Eyes of Dust
by whereisnovember
Summary: I protected the princess from afar, becoming no closer to her than a spec of dust caught on a fleeting wind. In her eyes, I was indifferent. A callous spy. An assassin made to bend to Octavian's will. But as the years passed, I could not deny that my charity for her was growing into something more. — This is Cleopatra's Daughter by Michelle Moran, told in Juba's perspective.
1. Queen

**Queen**

* * *

 _Juba II, Prince of Numidia_

 _Alexandria | August 12, 30 BC_

* * *

The sea beneath the promontory swirled with shades of deep blue, like something of a faience glaze. I inhaled the sharp tang of briny air as Agrippa led our men towards the impressive mausoleum of Kleopatra and Marc Antony. It gleamed beneath the chilly daylight, a marble sentinel to watch the waves slicing the cliffs far beneath us. And as we crested the slope, with our feet long worn from travel, and our tufted helmets catching the salty breeze, I could have sworn I'd never seen anything so magnificent. Not from Numidia, and certainly not from Rome.

Agrippa moved quickly at my side. Sweat gleamed on his heavy brow, and his eyes were narrowed against the harshness of the sun. A red cloak billowed in the wind behind him. "I shall send men to the door," he said swiftly, scrutinizing the grand building with its towering colonnades, and walls of pale, silvery marble. "But should the Queen prove to be… _difficult_ , we will need to subdue her from the inside. Juba?"

I nodded to the windowed balcony. "Well. I suppose we can take the quieter route. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to break down the door," I added wryly, and Agrippa managed a small smile.

"Tempting. But I believe the quiet route is better suited for our interests — and for our safety."

"Safety?" I raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards the many legionnaires that stood around us, their cloaks rippling at their heels. "The woman is cornered. What more can she do?"

"She's cornered, yes. Antony is presumed dead, and his legions have followed. But that doesn't mean Kleopatra won't put up a fight. We must be cautious."

I checked the dagger at my thigh. It was a sleek blade carved from the ivory tusk of my ancestor's war elephant, its hilt inlaid with the translucent sheen of mother-of-pearl. Should the faintest hint of danger arise, I'd be forced to use it to defend myself. There would be no other option. I met Agrippa's calculated stare. "Very well," I said, but my response was drowned out by the angry churn of waves, roaring against the stone face of the precipice with white foam.

Agrippa was ordering a few centurions to guard the mausoleum doors when a shrill, terrible scream rang from its marble depths. He turned expectantly to me then, and I knew it was time to act. My long fingers worked hastily, wrapping a thick length of rope around an iron hook and flinging it towards the balcony. There was a soft, metallic _clang_ as it caught the balustrade. I tugged firmly to make sure the line was secure, then began the climb to the uppermost balcony with Agrippa and a handful of soldiers following behind.

A single window was open to the cooling sea air; we slipped inside and made our way down the steps, keeping our footsteps soft along the marble floors. When we reached the base of the stairs, Agrippa paused, signaling for the men to remain crouched in the shadows. Torchlight pooled like liquid gold upon the innermost chamber, and I could easily discern the tall, willowy shape of Queen Kleopatra. Her children stood near the bloodied body of their father, Marc Antony, and near the pyres I could see the outline of two other Alexandrians — possibly servants, though I did not know.

I listened in silence as a quick, sharp conversation proceeded between Kleopatra and one of the centurions at the door. Blood stained the front of her dress to crimson, and I was certain that it had belonged to Antony. She spoke with a relenting fierceness, and the anger in her voice rang like fire through the cool depths of the mausoleum.

"…Caesarion is Caesar's son by blood! Which makes them _brothers!_ "

Agrippa took this as a cue to proceed. He signaled towards the other men, who encircled the chamber soundlessly, keeping to the dark, damp shadows where the torchlight could not reach. While the soldiers surrounded the Queen, I branched away from their ranks and moved towards the child closest to me — the girl with wavy curls and olive skin. In one swift movement, I unsheathed my dagger, caught her by her tiny waist, and brought the blade directly to her neck. She screamed out, and the fear in her voice was something I hated to hear. Something that nearly compelled me to lower my knife. But I had no other choice. Just as I had been wrenched away from my father, my kingdom, and my home, now this little Princess of Egypt would meet a similar fate.

I kept my ivory dagger at her throat as she trembled in my hands, and was bitterly aware that I was no different than the soldiers who had captured _me,_ who had carelessly traded my comfortable life as a Prince in Numidia to one of a pawn in Octavian's wicked political game.

"Mother!" the girl continued to cry out. She was terrified, and I tried not to feel disgusted by myself.

Agrippa moved to Kleopatra, who lunged viciously. There was the gleam of a dagger, but I did not have to worry. Agrippa had caught the queen's wrist easily, barring her strike. She roiled with the ferocity of a leopard, and I heard her snarl at him as he neatly disarmed her.

 _"Let go of me!"_

Agrippa freed her at once. With a face as stoic as chiseled stone, he raised his chin and commanded of the guards, "Take them to the palace. Caesar will wish to see her before he speaks with the people of Alexandria."

"Who are you?" Kleopatra demanded. Her amber eyes, almost a light shade of hawkish gold, seared in his direction.

Agrippa met her challenging stare. "Marcus Agrippa. Former consul of Rome and commander in chief of Caesar's fleet."

Suddenly, Kleopatra regarded him with a new interest. She repeated his name, only this time there was no hostility in her voice, no vileness that longed for murder. She spoke in a sultry tone, almost like that of a lover. "Agrippa. Do you see this treasure?" Her thin, bronze arm gestured towards the heap of soft leopard skins, silver vessels, and heavy chests spilling with jewels likely worth the entire army's pay. "It can be yours," she purred. "All of Egypt can be yours if you wish. Why give it to Octavian…when _you_ are the one who conquered Antony?"

Oh, please. How ridiculously juvenile. This woman might have been an accomplished queen, but was she actually proposing that Agrippa _betray_ Caesar? And for what? A chance at wealth and kingship over loyalty? This was Marcus Agrippa, who had remained Caesar's right-hand man for decades. Clearly, she had no idea who she was speaking to. And despite the fact that the queen was cornered, with weapons drawn around her from all sides, I couldn't quite believe she'd made such an embarrassing offer. Not even the worst of Octavian's men would agree to such a thing.

I glanced towards Agrippa and smirked, unable to hide my amusement. He hadn't even looked at the assortment of riches. His hard eyes were only on the queen, and they regarded her with cold, undisguised incredulity. "Are you proposing that I betray Caesar with you?" he demanded, a hint of menace buried in his voice.

She tossed him an elegant smile and extended a graceful hand. "I am saying that, with me, you would be accepted as Pharaoh, and there would be no war. No bloodshed. We could reign as Hercules and Isis."

The very idea of this made me laugh aloud, and I noticed the princess turn her chin to look up at me, her wide green eyes horrified. Kleopatra shot me a furious glare, but I would not allow a fallen queen to stoop so low as to barter her kingdom. Especially when the effort was practically futile. "You are asking Agrippa to betray Octavian," I said, chuckling softly. "You might as well ask the sea to stop meeting the store."

Kleopatra opened her mouth to retort, but Agrippa, it seemed, had had enough. I watched him grip the hilt of his sword with one hand as he said irritably, "She is desperate, and doesn't know what she's saying. Stay here with the treasure, Juba—"

At the mention of my name, the queen's golden eyes narrowed into slits. " _Juba,_ " she spat, as her daughter continued to struggle against my grip, and the torchlight flickered on Marc Antony's pale corpse. "I know you." When she moved towards me, steps echoing on the marble floor, I released her daughter. The princess stumbled towards her brother and clung to him, regarding me with fear. I felt a deep guilt rush through me, but I cast it away, instead keeping my eyes level with the queen's loathing glare. "Your mother was a Greek, and your father lost his kingdom to Julius Caesar. And now look." She regarded my leather cuirass and sword with repulsion. "You've become a _Roman_. How proud that would have made them."

Her words could not have struck me worse than any dagger. But I refused to show my wounds. Sealing my face into an impassive mask, I clenched my jaw and studied her coldly. "If I were you, I'd save my speeches for Octavian," I snapped.

"So why isn't he here? Where is this mighty _conqueror_ of queens?"

The words, cruel and crass, slipped from my mouth before I could stop them. "Perhaps he's looking over his new palace."

I watched as she paled, her confidence stunned into pained nonexistence. Agrippa motioned to bring her and the children to Octavian, and this time the queen did not put up a fight. We departed the mausoleum, surrounded by a cloud of red-cloaked guards, but I remained close to the terrified children as the cold sea winds swept behind us.

* * *

When we arrived at the palace of Alexandria, Agrippa instructed Kleopatra and her children to remain in their chamber. The queen glowered at him for a long moment, the deep amber of her eyes conveying nothing but hate. But Agrippa did not seem bothered by her wrath; he simply slid the door shut, and together we walked quietly through the halls to fetch Octavian. I could still catch the sound of the sea through the open windows; even the smell drifted to my nose, a heavy scent of algae and seawater brine.

"Quite the palace, don't you think?" Agrippa muttered to me, as we crossed along the sweeping floors of glittering marble.

I studied the elaborate frescoes and tiled mosaics that swept vivid color along the walls. High windows raced alongside our path, letting in pools of dazzling sunlight. Everywhere I looked there were silk couches, ebony vases, and cushions trimmed with silver. "It is something," I admitted, my eyebrows raised. This was nothing compared to Rome; whereas Octavian's villa was subtle with its wealth, the palace's opulence was nearly overwhelming. Golden braziers billowed with the blue smoke of burning amber, sitting before the paws of sphinxes carved from stone. It was all marble and gold and gloss, every last tile fitted to perfection. "But more unnecessary than impressive, I think," I added critically, and Agrippa smiled.

We met Octavian in the palace library, where he was finishing up a letter to the Senate. Although the strength of kings rested on his shoulders, he was a small, unassuming man with eyes the color of slate. Everything about his appearance was meticulous, and austere, almost: his neatly pressed tunic, trimmed carefully in gold; flaxen hair neatly slicked back, with not a single strand out of place; long fingers that moved with measured precision, dipping his pen into ink again and again. When he saw us, he swiftly rose to his feet. "Is she here?" he demanded. At Agrippa's nod, he reached for his cloak. "Then I should like to meet with her at once."

Our steps echoed along the quiet halls as we walked. Most servants had already fled, but those who remained skulked in the doorways, watching us with terrified eyes. When we came to the queen's chamber, Octavian knocked only once. Then the door flew open, and Kleopatra's willowy frame appeared. Her amber eyes roved across each of our faces in turn until she demanded, "What? Where is he?"

Her eldest son, Alexander, scrambled from his bed. "It's him!" he said, and I stiffened when he rudely pointed his finger at Octavian, who stood between myself and Agrippa.

Kleopatra's thin eyebrows raised in surprise. Her gaze flickered across Octavian, looking him up and down. I noticed her eyes linger on his signet ring of Julius Caesar before she spoke to him in Greek. "Then you are Octavian?"

"Don't you know any Latin?" I demanded of her.

She shot me a smile that did not reach her critical eyes. "Of course," she said. "If that is what he prefers." When she turned to Caesar, she smoothly traded her Greek for Latin. "So you are Octavian?"

Octavian stepped forward. His gray eyes were like chipped stone as they studied her — everything from her pearl necklace to her diaphanous gown. "Yes. And I presume you are Queen Kleopatra."

She drifted to a chair and said, "That depends. _Am_ I still the queen?"

I smiled at her bluntness, but Octavian's lips merely thinned. "For now. Shall I sit?"

Kleopatra's smooth arm gestured towards the couch. The servants sitting there stood, moving to join the children on a bed of silks, and I studied the girl for a moment, wondering how she'd come to have such curly hair so unlike her mother's. She noticed me staring, so I quickly turned my gaze away, fixing it on Octavian instead. "I hear you have tried to seduce my general," he said, after taking his seat. She shot Agrippa a very nasty look, but said nothing. Octavian went on, "I'm not surprised. It worked on my uncle. But Agrippa is a different kind of man."

Everyone turned towards Agrippa, and although there was no general more powerful and more revered, he quickly glanced away. Octavian turned again to Kleopatra. "There is no one more modest or loyal than Agrippa," he reasoned. "He would never betray me." His gray eyes glanced to me, and I stood straighter at the sound of my name. "Neither would Prince Juba. I suppose you know that his father was King of Numidia once. But when he lost the battle against Julius Caesar, he gave his youngest son to Rome and then took his own life."

My stomach clenched at the memory. I thought of my father, my namesake. The warrior king with his dark eyes and heavy beard, who always wore a cloak of deepest blue, for blue had been the color reserved for Numidian royalty. The noble man who had died dueling his general rather than allow the Romans to crucify him. Who mussed my hair after long horse rides and praised me for my height, which rivaled only that of my tall, willowy mother. I missed him greatly, just as I missed the kingdom I'd lost. But while I felt pain, I did not dare to show it. Instead, I laced my fingers behind my back and stood purposefully tall, watching the tense conversation between Octavian and Kleopatra unfold before me.

The queen shot Octavian a dark glare. "Is that your way of telling me I shall lose my throne?" When he did not answer her, she lashed out with another question. "What about Caesarion?" she asked, referring to the son she'd had with Julius Caesar.

Octavian's voice was indifferent. "I am afraid your son will not be able to take the throne, either."

"Why?" Kleopatra demanded, and I watched as some of the color left her face.

"Because Caesarion is dead. And so is Antyllus."

Kleopatra looked as though she had been wounded. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair, her thin body shuddering as she was forced to accept the deaths of her sons. Octavian spoke up over the sounds of her gasps. "However, I will allow them a burial with Marc Antony in the mausoleum that you have prepared."

But the queen did not seem to hear him. She was hunched over, her amber eyes suddenly sightless, glazed over with grief. _"Caesarion!"_ she sobbed. "Not Caesarion!"

She began to tear wildly at her clothes, and that was when Octavian shouted, "Stop her!"

Agrippa moved forward at once, gripping her by the forearms and pinning her to the chair. But Kleopatra would not be subdued. She writhed where she sat, her chest heaving, her crown toppling to the floor in a heap. She snarled at Octavian, "He was your _brother!_ The child of Julius Caesar. Do you understand what you've done? You've murdered your own brother!"

"And you murdered your own sister," Octavian retorted coolly. Kleopatra lashed out with her feet, but he easily avoided her sandals. "In three days," he said, "I will sail with you and your children to Rome, where you will take part in my Triumph."

She answered him with a vicious shout. "I will _never_ be paraded through the streets of Rome!"

Of course she wouldn't, for Kleopatra was no ordinary woman. She was the Queen of Egypt. She was a descendant of the ancients, of the thousands of pharaohs who had come long before her. Her legacy had seen empires rise from sand and crumble to dust. She had loved and lost both Julius Caesar and Marc Antony, and I was certain her fight would not end until her dying breath. A single glance in Octavian's direction told me that he shared my sentiments. He rose to his feet, but Kleopatra called him back. "Where are you going?"

"To the Tomb of Alexander, the greatest conqueror in the world," he answered swiftly. "Then on to the Gymnasium, where I will address my people." His gray eyes slid towards Alexander and his siblings. "Shall your children come?"

The girl sprinted from the bed and fell to her knees at her mother's feet. Her curls swept into her eyes as she begged, "Don't send us with him. Please, mother, please!"

Kleopatra's body trembled, and I could see the agony in her gaze as she looked down at her daughter. But when she turned to Octavian, a peculiar sort of calm seemed to settle her. Her voice was level as she said to him, "Yes. Take my children with you."

"No!" the girl was sobbing. "I won't go!"

"Come," I commanded. I gripped her arm, but she wrenched away from my grasp. She was screaming now, her voice echoing along the vaulted ceiling, so shrill and full of terror that I wondered if the entirety of Alexandria could hear her pleas.

"Don't make us go! Please!"

But Kleopatra had had enough. _"Go!"_ she shouted at her daughter. "Iras, Charmion, get them out of here!" The servants escorted the children to the door, where they huddled together to say their goodbyes. Octavian waited patiently, studying the queen with curiosity. When Kleopatra had wiped her daughter's tears away, and whispered words of parting to her sons, she stood lithely and swept her hands down the wrinkled front of her gown. Her eyes gleamed like gold, and she nodded coldly at Octavian before closing the door shut with a snap.

Agrippa addressed the children then, who cowered before him. "Walk next to me and keep silent," he said. "We go first to the Tomb of Alexander, then on to the Gymnasium."

As we walked through the halls, we passed numerous soldiers who were collecting spoils from the palace for Caesar's treasury: everything from alabaster vases to cedar chairs to basalt statues. Amidst the tumult of shifting goods and furniture, I caught Alexander speaking rapidly to his sister in Greek. "How does he know these men aren't stealing things for themselves?"

"Because none of them would be so foolish," I said, also speaking in the Grecian tongue, and I noticed Alexander's eyes widen with caution.

Although Octavian did not understand what we were saying, the sound of our voices made him turn. "The twins are handsome children, aren't they?" he remarked. "More of their mother than their father, I think. So you are Alexander Helios?"

The child nodded. "Yes. But I go by Alexander, Your Highness."

"He is not a king," I said sharply. "We call him Caesar."

His cheeks flushed, but regardless he answered quietly, "Yes, Caesar."

"And your sister?" Octavian asked.

"She is Kleopatra Selene," Alexander said. "But we call her Selene."

"The sun and moon," I said wryly. "How clever." There was almost an air of truth to their namesake. While Alexander was bright, with shining eyes of amber, his sister was his contrast, a little darker, a little more reserved. I looked down at the tiny princess, at her dark curls and olive skin that had long been bronzed by the Egyptian sun. Her eyes were the color of cool Nile waters, quite unlike anything I had ever seen before. She met my gaze steadily, and I wondered what she thought of me, the tall Numidian prince with the long black hair who was every bit a Roman soldier — everything from my scarlet cloak to my plumed red helmet. But the fear and wariness in her eyes told me all I needed to know, and I quickly looked away, not wanting to frighten her any further.

Agrippa glanced down at the youngest son. "And the boy?"

"Ptolemy," Alexander said, and Octavian's spine stiffened.

"That one's more of his father," he said coldly.

Our conversation dwindled into silence then, with only the sounds of our footsteps whispering along the tiles. Soldiers spread before us in the halls, saluting our procession as we passed. Before long we came to the palace doors, and beyond their heavy cedar frames I could hear the rumble of a nervous, conquered Alexandria. Citizens would be flooding to the Gymnasium now, eager to hear what would become of their city, and of their livelihoods. Octavian straightened his cloak while I checked the dagger at my thigh, making certain I was ready to come to his defense. Agrippa rounded on the children then, and the seriousness of his voice carried a harsh warning. "There will be no speaking unless spoken to, understand?" He waited until the three children nodded in agreement before saying, "Then prepare yourselves."

His palms pushed the doors open, and suddenly we were off, striding into the night with only the blaze of the torches to light our path.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

I recently read Cleopatra's Daughter and found myself really liking Juba's character. I wish his relationship with Selene could have been more fleshed out, so I wanted to capture it with this fanfic! Thanks for reading. Next chapter is finished and will be up soon.


	2. Demise

**Demise**

* * *

Octavian's victory speech at the Gymnasium went exactly as planned. He addressed the citizens of Alexandria with a pale show of mercy. He promised that no slaves would be taken. He allowed the nobility to keep their villas at a moderate price. He was as every bit an actor as the men on stage, and yet I remained dutifully at his side, reminded of the day my own kingdom had crumbled.

I thought of the last moments I had seen my father alive. I recalled the way he'd tied his broad sash to hide his gaping wound, even as his blood stained the dusty earth, and Octavian's armies continued their advance. He was dying. I could tell that much from the pools of red that bloomed at his feet. Yet his dark eyes had held mine, and there was no fear in their depths. _Be not afraid_ , he'd told me. The words still echoed in the hollow of my heart. He died moments later, and suddenly I was just a crying boy clinging to his chest, pleading with him to come back.

Now, as I stood before the siege of another empire, I watched how the people of Alexandria revered Octavian. Hailed him as savior. He had spared them from chains, from hunger — even as their kings rotted away. I watched without interest as the crowds cheered and waved in the Gymnasium. And then my eyes found the three children of Kleopatra, who stood frozen side by side. The girl, Kleopatra Selene, had eyes glossed with tears, but I could see how she refused to cry, biting down on her lip instead. I knew what she was feeling, for I, too, had once been shoves into the throes of such misfortune. Even now, I saw my younger self in her and her brothers. A Prince of Numidia who had watched Octavia slaughter his entire family, but who had stood with a cold, calculated defiance that scattered away the pain, the grief, but not the anger. And so I moved closer to the children, silently willing for them to be strong.

As we left the Gymnasium and made for the palace, I walked quietly beside Octavian. Our cloaks snapped in the breeze, and I could still hear the people cheering in the distance. "Is there anything I forgot?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Agrippa said calmly. "It was the right decision to let the temples stand. The priests will never incite rebellion."

"And the people?"

"They called you king," I assured him mildly. Though I was speaking to Octavian, my eyes lingered on the shape of Selene, who clung desperately to her brother Ptolemy. "They will find the gold talents to ransom their villas, I have no doubt—"

A terrible wail cut through the night, and I drew my blade without a pause. The soldiers behind us joined shields as a woman came bolting from the Palace of Alexandria, moving as fast as her sandaled feet could carry her. I knew immediately what had happened; I could tell from the horrified look on the woman's face, the way her cheeks were streaked with tears. When we had left for the Gymnasium, Octavian had ordered Kleopatra and her servants to remain within the palace, while we had brought her children with us. Earlier, when I had asked why, he had responded simply, "A queen of her stature should meet her demise with dignity, Juba. And with her own discretion."

The woman was sobbing. "Princess, your mother! You must come. She is dying."

Selene had already started running, with Alexander following closely behind her. No one stopped them. But Octavian looked meaningfully at me and said, "Juba. Agrippa. Let us go to them." When we came to the chamber and found Kleopatra unmoving, I understood exactly what Octavian had meant earlier. Suicide was the only way for Kleopatra to keep pride intact — to avoid being dragged through the streets with the weight of Antony's death and a shattered empire on her shoulders. She would have never come quietly, in any case. The strength of her Egyptian and Ptolemic pride had been far too great. I looked at her slender body splayed upon the floor and shook my head at such a sad, terrible sight. A once-regal queen, now withered away to a shell of lifeless flesh and bone. Just like so many other fallen rulers stripped from rule. Even my own father —a dusty, noble warrior king born from the harshness of the desert — had killed himself rather than bow to the powers of Rome.

Selene was screaming, shaking her mother. Her cries were too much for me to bear. They made me step forward, moving urgently to her side. I felt for her mother's heartbeat, but there was none. The queen was still and cold, as if she'd been frozen in icy water.

"Alexander, she used a snake!" Selene sobbed to her brother.

"How do you know it's a snake?" I asked quickly.

The tears billowed in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She pointed with one trembling finger. "Look at her arm!"

My eyes traveled to Kleopatra's smooth, dark forearm, where two puncture wounds marred her skin. The sight made me rise swiftly to my feet. "There are asps in this chamber," I said at once. "Seal off the room." My eyes found the children of Kleopatra, now orphans. "Selene, Alexander, Ptolemy—"

But Selene refused to listen. "No!" she cried. "A snake-doctor could drain the wound!"

I looked into her tearful eyes and shook my head. "She's already gone."

"You don't know that!" she wailed.

I glanced uncertainly at Octavian, who surprised me by ordering, "Find a snake-doctor!"

"But Caesar," the centurion by the name of Blasius reasoned. "You have what you want. She's dead. And in ten months you can march into Rome—"

But Octavian refused to be placated. " _Silence!"_ he snarled. "Find a snake-doctor and bring him here at once!"

I grasped Alexander's arm and led him away. "Stand at the door," I told him, looking sternly into his tearful amber eyes. "There is at least one cobra in this room. Do _not_ step inside." I glanced at Ptolemy, who shivered as if suffering from cold, and then at Selene, hoping she had heard my command. The very last thing I wanted was to see her meet the same fate of her mother. While we waited, I heard her whisper to her brother in Parthian, "It was a lie. He was never going back to Rome in three days. He wanted her to die. He wanted her to commit suicide."

At length the snake-doctor arrived, and we watched in silence as he entered the chamber, lamplight sliding over the gleaming darkness of his ink-black skin. He settled before the queen and placed his lips before every wound, attempting to draw out the venom. But his efforts were futile. Queen Kleopatra lay unmoving on the marble tiles, her dark skin reduced to a colorless pallor, her eyelids closed to forever hide that sharp, golden glare. Selene embraced her brothers, and I turned away so that I wouldn't have to see her cry.

Alexander's voice was very quiet. "Will our mother be buried in her mausoleum?"

"Of course," Octavian said. But his tone was not kind, it was crisp and formal, as if we were discussing business matters rather than that of a royal burial. "She was the Queen of Egypt."

Agrippa glanced uncertainly at me before asking, "Will you really keep the children alive?"

Octavian looked thoughtful. "The girl is pretty. In a few years, some senator will need to be silenced. She'll be of marriageable age and make him happy. And neither of the boys has reached fifteen years. Keeping them alive will seem merciful."

Naturally. The children meant absolutely nothing to him. They were merely trophies, a symbol of his conquest, his so-called _benevolence_. I tried not to think of how I too, was a trophy, even standing on his right-hand side.

"And Rome?" I asked swiftly.

"In a few months, when affairs are settled here, we'll sail."

* * *

I woke early to a crisp, watery blue morning and, after donning a short cloak, made a quick walk from the palace to the docks. Icy waves swirled against the wooden poles, their crests tipped with white foam. Sailors and slaves alike were preparing for the journey to Rome, loading the _thalamegos_ with heavy chests, statues, and gold riches that had been stripped clean from the palace. The statue closest to me caught my eye, and I recognized it at once. Tuthmosis I. His relaxed, gleaming face stared back at me, unaware of the chaos and movement that swelled against the docks, or of the violent suicide that had claimed a great queen and left three orphans behind. I found myself glaring into its calm, sculpted eyes until a voice shook me out of my reverie.

"Ah, Juba. You're here rather early."

I turned to see Octavian standing behind me, a scroll in hand, his light hair catching the gleam of morning sun. I straightened up at once, smoothing my cloak to look more presentable. "Yes, sir. I was hoping to oversee the loading of these statues. I want each and every one of them in pristine condition by the time we reach Rome." The lie came swift to my lips.

"Excellent." Octavian nodded with approval. "They are magnificent, aren't they?" Without waiting for a response, he said, "The children are on their way with Agrippa. I have been thinking, Juba, and I have decided what shall be done with them."

"I see," I said lightly, though irritated by how carelessly he could decide the fate of others, let alone scared, innocent children. "And?"

"As I said before, the girl is pretty. If she proves to be of interest by the time she is fifteen, I should prefer the two of you to wed."

I was shocked, and almost wanted to splutter out a protest. But this was Octavian I was speaking to. He was the architect of every Roman's life, crafting them however he pleased. He decided how people should act, and whom they should marry. And as for me, I was still seen as a pawn that he shifted to and fro in the winding, serpentine game of politics and intrigue. If I wanted to keep up the ruse of Octavian's spy —and to hide my efforts as the Red Eagle — I had to agree to his every word. I had show unwavering loyalty that could equal only that of Agrippa.

"Are you displeased?" Octavian demanded quietly, when I said nothing.

I smoothed my face into an impassive mask. "Certainly not. I am honored, Caesar."

He nodded, looking satisfied. "However, let us not discuss this again until I feel the time is right. Fifteen, after all, is a long way off. The girl could prove to be less than her worth if we are not careful." He turned for the _thalamegos_ , his long cloak whipping in the breeze behind him.

"And her brothers?" I asked swiftly, after his retreating back.

He turned to look at me, and the coldness of his gray eyes seemed to match the icy sea billowing beneath him. "Only time will tell." He smiled mirthlessly. "You should know this better than anyone, Juba."


	3. Sail

**Sail**

* * *

 _Alexandria to Rome |_ _July 6, 29 BC_

* * *

I found myself watching the Princess Selene when she and her brothers arrived at the docks. I was simply curious about the girl whom Octavian intended to become my wife. She was merely a child now, twelve years while I was nineteen, so I didn't look at her the way some lewd men might. But still, I was curious.

She spoke Egyptian, Parthian, Greek, and Latin fluently. It seemed there was a calfskin book that she carried around with her wherever she went, sketching and drawing while Alexander played with Ptolemy. And there was something about her eyes. They were crisp and green as leaves — quite unlike her mother's stare of dazzling amber — and seemed to intently absorb every little detail around her. When she saw me looking at her, I did not smile. I could not afford to show her kindness, not when she was the daughter of Rome's greatest enemy. Octavian would only see me as weak, and this would only compromise our closeness. And so I regarded her with indifference, trying not to feel regretful when she turned away in disgust.

At length I stood on the docks with Octavian as the sharp winds of the sea chilled the air around us. When the augur appeared, I had to refrain myself from rolling my eyes. If there was one thing I had little patience for, it was Octavian's reliance on signs and interpretations. And when I glanced to Agrippa's hard expression, I knew he shared my sentiments.

The children of Kleopatra remained on the dock with us while the augur began. He had brought a quail, which Octavian proceeded to hold in his hands. In one fluid movement, Agrippa quickly slit the terrified bird's neck. Everyone watched as the blood pooled in Octavian's hands, dripping to the planks of the dock in a flurry of red.

"What does it mean?" Octavian demanded.

"It must make a pattern first," the augur proclaimed.

It was tempting to laugh at the stupidity of it all. I caught Selene's eye, who was watching the scene in disbelief. I smiled, amused by her reaction to all this superstitious nonsense. I don't know what compelled me — perhaps I foolishly wanted to impress her — but I decided to speak to her in Parthian. "He thinks that by reading the splattering of some blood, he'll be able to tell us whether the gods plan to send this ship to the bottom of the sea. Of course," I added casually, "if the augur's wrong, there'll be no one alive to challenge him."

Alexander fixed his wide eyes on me in horror. "How do you know Parthian?"

I regarded him with amusement, lowering myself on one knee to meet his height. "I'm Caesar's spy among other people," I said lightly. "I wouldn't be very successful if I didn't know a _few_ languages, would I?"

Selene's green eyes glowered at me with mistrust. "So you've been telling Caesar what we've been saying?"

I chuckled at the ridiculousness of her quick suspicions. "Why would I do that when nothing you've said has been of any interest?" It was true. Almost all of their conversations included the children fretting over what would happen to them, and when they would die. Their terror and uncertainty was nothing Octavian needed to know about — or anyone, for that matter. "But the walls in Rome have ears, Princess."

" _Your_ ears," she hissed.

"And many others," I said calmly.

"So you send men to their deaths. To prison."

I was amazed by the girl's hostility. "Only if they're assassins. Why, you're not planning to assassinate Caesar, are you?"

It was my attempt to be humorous, though I don't believe it came across that way. I was so accustomed to spewing threats and criticisms in Octavian's favor that it was hard to deviate from that standard. And I think in some way, my question to her was serious. Selene had had everything wrenched away from her; should she break, and choose to resort to darker means to return to Egypt…well, I simply had to make sure she realized the danger and the impossibility of doing something so severe.

And perhaps she did. She stared directly into my eyes for a long moment before Agrippa broke the silence. "What's happening?" he demanded.

I straightened up, dropping the Parthian for Latin. "I am simply warning the queen's children that in Rome, many things will be different. I think they understand." I attempted a smile at Selene, but her cold green eyes refused to lighten. They were like stones, and it couldn't have been clearer that they regarded me as an enemy.

When the augur at last proclaimed our trip as a blessed voyage, and the last of the cargo and finest treasures had been brought upon the ship, Octavian came to me. "Has everything been loaded from the mausoleum?"

"Every last talent," I answered shortly.

A round soldier squinted at Selene, and my back stiffened when his tiny black eyes landed on her pearls. "Not the girl's necklace," the seedy man had the audacity to say. "And what about the children's crowns?"

His greed both disgusted and angered me. I might have throttled him. "They're simple bands of pearls," I snapped, stepping pointedly between him and Selene. "Perhaps you'd like to take their clothes as well?"

Octavian's words surprised me. "The children may keep whatever they're wearing. I want to leave." He swept up the deck of the ship, and before long we were setting sail across the turquoise expanse of sea, leaving the gleaming city of Alexandria long behind us.

* * *

 _Author's Note_

Chapters 4 and 5 are finished, will upload soon!

Also here's a list of important characters that will be mentioned in the story:

* * *

 **Agrippa.** Octavian's trusted general; father of Vipsania.

 **Alexander.** Son of Queen Kleopatra and Marc Antony; Selene's twin brother.

 **Gallia.** Daughter of Vercingetorix, king of the defeated Gauls.

 **Juba II.** Prince of Numidia, son of the defeated King of Numidia, Juba I.

 **Julia.** Daughter of Octavian and his first wife, Scribonia.

 **Kleopatra VII.** Queen of Egypt, mother to Julius Caesar's son Caesarion and to Marc Antony's children Alexander, Selene, and Ptolemy.

 **Livia.** Wife of Octavian; Empress of Rome.

 **Marc Antony.** Roman consul and general.

 **Octavian.** Emperor of Rome; known as Augustus from January 16, 27 BC, onward.

 **Ptolemy.** Younger son of Queen Kleopatra and Marc Antony.

 **Selene.** Daughter of Queen Kleopatra and Marc Antony.

 **Tiberius.** Son of Livia and her first husband, Tiberius Claudius Nero.

 **Verrius.** A freedman and a schoolteacher of great renown.

 **Vitruvius.** Engineer and architect; author of De architectura.


	4. Statues

**Statues**

* * *

While we sailed, I spent most of my time studying and labeling the fascinating statues we had procured. Many were Roman, some Egyptian, but there were a number of Greek statues as well. All were immaculate and chiseled to perfection, each one as impressive as the last. I was certain they would fetch a handsome sum upon our return to Rome, although there were one or two I wouldn't mind purchasing for my own collection. It was the oldest sculptures that impressed me the most— the ones from ancient times now lost to sand and dust, busts that depicted long-dead pharaohs such as Thutmose I, Ramsesses II, and even Hatshepsut. They were unique, and so unlike Roman craftsmanship that they caught my interest. As a collector, a traveler, and a scholar, I made it my duty to study their hieroglyphic inscriptions almost day and night. But when I wasn't analyzing statues, or else advising Octavian on political matters, I made certain to keep my eye on the Ptolemy children.

On our fifth morning at sea, I seated myself in the courtyard for a bit of fresh air. I had only begun to draft a letter to a sculptor friend of mine when Selene caught my eye. She was making her way towards the library, where Octavian had ordered the statues to be kept. The silvery daylight glazing the deck seemed to bounce off of each of her curls, and she walked with an air of purpose that amused me for some reason. Interested to know what she was doing, I lowered my reed pen and made to follow her.

I noted with caution that the doors of the library were already thrown open. Someone had already been in here. I withdrew my sword from its sheath and quietly kept my distance as Selene entered the room. "Who's there?" I heard her cry out.

A coarse voice, like grating sand, answered her. Then, footsteps. "Well, good morning. The men were right. You _are_ a pretty girl."

I entered the library without a second thought and, upon seeing what was happening, launched my sword directly at the filthy swine who was closing in on little Selene. The blade whistled through the air and plunged deep into the paneled wood, merely inches away from where the sailor had been standing moments before. He was holding a small statuette in his grimy hands — a votive of Sekhmet, one of Egypt's old gods — but dropped it immediately.

Rage stewed beneath the surface of my calm facade, and it took every bit of self control I could muster to keep from butchering the man where he stood. "I hope you are going to return that," I said quietly. I watched coldly as the man picked the statuette from the floor and returned it to its rightful place, breaking one of the arms in the process. It was an accident, as the man's trembling hands had knocked it over, but seeing the tiny figure damaged when _I_ had been the one watching these statues so carefully — and so earnestly — made me furious.

As the man made for the door, I grasped him by the neck and crushed my fingers against his windpipe. "You will never touch anything that belongs to Caesar," I snarled. "The next time, I will aim for your _throat_." I released the man and he staggered forward, choking and spluttering. When he left, I turned my eyes to Selene, who stood immobile, like a river reed frozen in ice.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

She gave some pitiful excuse about looking for a scroll.

"So find it," I snapped. I was irritated that the sailor had even dared to make an advance on Selene, and though I didn't mean it, I ended up turning some of my fresh anger on to her. I picked up the broken arm of Sekhmet and held it to the light before discarding it into an amphora. There was not much I could do about the statuette now; it was ruined, when already it had been worth next to nothing. To my surprise, Selene protested.

"No! Don't throw it away!"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Well, thank you, Princess. Unfortunately, not many Romans are interested in purchasing broken statues of Egyptian goddesses." I saw her face fall, so I added, "But since you're so interested in art, why don't you tell me which pieces you believe to be the most important?"

She pointed to a statue I knew quite well, its smooth, marble flesh gleaming almost wetly in the daylight.

"Tuthmosis I?"

Her eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Did she think me stupid? "I can read hieroglyphics," I said curtly. "What else?" Even though I was interested in hearing what she had to say, I kept my voice sharp. It was unkind, I admit, but I figured I had to remain very careful around her. Should I slip, and allow her to uncover something she shouldn't…

She pointed to the bronze bust of the grape harvest god Dionysus — a figure that her father, Marc Antony, supposedly liked to personify. She stared at it for a long moment, and I was suddenly at a loss for words when I saw the tears pooling in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, as if to clear them. I wanted to comfort the child, but forced myself to act the part of Octavian's right-hand man instead. A spy that showed cruelty, not kindness. "You can weep," I said harshly, "but it won't bring them back." My words were callous. I could see how they pierced her, and I hated myself for it. "Kingdoms rise and fall on the whim of the gods."

But Selene was defiant. A feature of hers I was beginning to note. "Isis has _never_ turned her back on Egypt! She will bring me home!"

I paused for a moment, glancing over my shoulder to make certain there was no one around to hear her words. It was dangerous of her to speak this way. If she showed even the slightest intent of returning to Egypt, Octavian would see her silenced. "I would be very careful where I said that, Princess," I warned her.

But Selene raised her chin. "I know about you," she whispered, and I cautiously narrowed my eyes. "Julius Caesar killed your own mother and brother. But _I'll_ never bow to Rome!"

I studied her as a heavy sadness filled my chest, swelling as though it were ice water. The princess assumed I had so easily fallen in Octavian's hands, but she could not have been further from the truth. I had never, and would never, bow to Rome. The mask that hid my face — turning me from a loyal spy to the Red Eagle —was evidence enough to that fact.

But of course, she wasn't to know of this.

Selene continued to glower at me, yet I did not contradict her. What was important was intimidating her, to keep her from thinking she'd someday return to Egypt. It was heartless, but it was the only way to protect her from Octavian's wrath. "How very brave." I smiled sardonically. "Perhaps you'll feel different after the Triumph."

She ran from me, and I could see that my sneering words had been too much for her. It was an empty threat, as I knew nothing would happen to her before or even after Octavian's Triumph, but of course she didn't know that. I watched her pause on her way to the door, stopped by the sight of Petubastis' looming basalt statue. She reached out one hand, her face curious, as though she wanted to touch its smooth surface. But when she glanced back at where I stood, fear seemed to have cut away at her curiosity, and she hurried away.


	5. Burial

**Burial**

* * *

The third and youngest child of Kleopatra, Ptolemy, was dying. I heard it from the terrified whispers that crossed the ship, quick and hushed as river water. Servants tended to the boy as the days wore on, bringing him grapes and cold juice. We had only been at sea for ten days, and now the seven-year-old was on the edge of death. He had grown horrifyingly pale and thin, his hair plastered to his sweaty face as he shivered beneath the linens of his bed. His moaning could be heard from the children's quarters, echoing all through the day and night. And although I sent for a physician, and Agrippa brought the boy plates of fruit every morning, there was nothing that could be done. He was coughing up phlegm ridden with blood, and every time his little chest heaved for breath, one could hear a horrible rattle escape his lungs, as if they were close to crumpling in the depths of his chest.

When the news of the child's sickness was brought to Octavian, he rounded on Agrippa with a chilly rage.

"Unacceptable," he snapped. "We need the _three_ Ptolemy children alive for the Triumph."

"He has a terrible fever," I said quietly, trying not to think of the poor child drifting towards Elysium while his siblings looked on. Although I did not admit it, the thought of his death frightened me. "The physician seems to think he will not last until morning."

"Then ask the slaves if they have any knowledge of medicine," Octavian commanded, and Agrippa left at once. Within moments he found a Macedonian slave who had once been a healer in his native lands. I watched as the man crossed the deck, sweat and sun gleaming on the darkness of his skin. A thin, yellow film stretched across both of his eyes, and rugged teeth brimmed above dry, cracked lips.

"Caesar wants all three children alive for his triumph," Agrippa explained firmly. Then he pulled a sack of glittering gold from his pouch. "I will give you a hundred talents to cure him."

I sat quietly in the distance, listening to the efforts of the Macedonian as he worked. He kept at it for most of the day, murmuring and blending an assortment of leaves into paste. Agrippa watched him closely, but I do not believe it came to a surprise by anyone when the healer finally rose and shook his head. A flicker of rage crossed Agrippa's face. He shoved the bag of gold into the Macedonian's hands. "Take it!" he bellowed.

"But I cannot heal him, Domine." The healer trembled. "He's too sick."

"Then just take it and _go!_ "

While the Macedonian fled, Agrippa paced back and forth in discontent. I wondered if he was simply angry that he could not fulfill Octavian's request. But then I noticed the way he looked to Ptolemy. It was the look I'd seen him give his daughter, Vipsania, when he often left for long journeys. A withdrawn sort of concern, almost sadness. It lingered in his eyes when he brought the dying child a platter of fruit, and stayed long with him when he walked away.

When I dined with him later that evening, I murmured, "I am sorry we cannot save him."

Although Agrippa's face was stoic, there was something else that brewed in his eyes. Something dark and forlorn. He brought a glass of wine to his lips with a slight wince. "The child's fate is determined," he said, his tone abruptly dismissive. "Nothing can be done, but…" He looked away. "Regardless, I do not wish to see him die."

"Neither do I."

"The other two are healthy," Agrippa said with quiet certainty. "They will cross the sea without issue."

"We will make certain of it," I swore.

I thought of Selene and Alexander, and of all of the loss that surrounded them. They had lost the entirety of their empire, their inheritance — the magnificent sprawl of Alexandria and Egypt, the vassal states of Armenia, of Syria and Crete, and far beyond. Their father had killed himself. Their mother, too, had committed suicide, rather than be paraded around as Octavian's conquered queen. And now their younger brother was slipping away from them, his life chipped at little by little, as we sailed onward to Rome. I understood their pain, and to be quite honest, I did not wish for them to see anymore of it.

* * *

In the cold, rainy quiet of the following morning, Ptolemy died in his sister's arms. A servant came to me and murmured the news in my ear, as I stood at the prow of the ship and watched the icy sea spray billow into the air. I could hear Alexander shouting in his anger and grief, but I did not go to him or Selene. No one did. They deserved to mourn their brother in solitude. But when Octavian heard the news, he sent the Macedonian to collect Ptolemy's body.

"A burial at sea, then," he'd told me carelessly, while scribbling up a report for the Senate. "His body should be disposed of as quickly as possible. We do not wish for any disease to be spread upon this ship."

Agrippa, I noted, was very quiet. He simply turned on his heel and stalked from Octavian's chamber, eyes as forbidding as jagged stone, long cloak whipping behind him. When we found the Macedonian, we led him once again to the children's room. I was not at all surprised to find Alexander standing before Ptolemy's body, guarding his little brother from the hands that wished to take his corpse away.

"I am sorry," the Macedonian apologized. "But we must prepare for a burial."

"Only murderers are buried at sea!" Alexander cried. His light eyes, so similar to his mother's, were spilling with tears. I could not look at his face; the way it was so twisted with grief, like a withered tree branch about to break. It was too raw. Too familiar.

The Macedonian bowed his head in regret. "I'm sorry, Domine, but these are the orders from Caesar himself."

Selene kept her back pressed against the wall, looking upon her brother's motionless form with empty eyes. Alexander, however, looked beside himself. His tears of grief became ones of rage as he screamed into the man's face. "Then tell him _no!_ "

Agrippa tried to reason with him. "We have many days left at sea, and no embalming materials to keep his body fresh." He paused and heaved a sigh. "Let your brother rest with Neptune, Alexander."

Alexander scrunched his eyes up tight, tears dripping down his nose, but he did not argue. Defeated, he gave a quivering sniff and stepped aside. The Macedonian moved forward, collecting Ptolemy's tiny body in the white sheets. Then he crossed the royal courtyard and made his way to the side of the ship, Selene and Alexander trailing behind him. A crowd of soldiers, sailors, and nobles alike had gathered on the ship's deck to pay their respects. I watched the Apollo priest murmur a few words of prayer, promising that Ptolemy would find peace in death. Agrippa stood beside me, and I felt him tense as the Macedonian dropped Ptolemy's wrapped body into the sea. As the waves claimed him, Alexander sprinted to the railing, the briny winds sweeping his curls into his eyes.

"Ptolemy!" His cry was desperate. " _Ptolemy!"_

Agrippa moved forward at once. He held the boy by the arms and gently drove him away from the railing. "Take him the courtyard," he instructed the servants. "Find him some food and good Chian wine."

The crowd began to disperse, slipping away into the chambers along the courtyard until only myself and Selene remained. She did not seem to notice that I was nearby. Her eyes were fixed on the swirling sea, staring into its depths as if waiting for something. She moved closer to the railing, the wind catching her hair and her dress. And as I watched her movements, somehow I knew what she was about to do.

"I wouldn't think it, Princess," I called out, as Selene grasped the rail with both hands.

She spun around to face me, her eyes full of undisguised shock. But she did not release the rail.

I tried to keep my voice calm, even though anxiety pulsed through my veins like threads of ice. I knew exactly what she was thinking. What she was feeling. But even with many of her loved ones dead, it was not her fate to slumber with her little brother at the bottom of the sea. I could not let that happen.

"Have you ever seen the body of a drowned man?" I asked, thinking that perhaps I could frighten her away from whatever choice she had made. "It swells five, even six times its size, then turns black until the skin peels away."

I watched her blanch, though she said nothing. Her hand still clung to the railing, and that made me nervous.

"Do you want to end up as a bloated corpse abandoned at sea?"

Her vicious shout almost made me flinch. "Better than a corpse abandoned in Caesar's prison!"

To my relief, Selene sharply drew her hands away from the railing and stormed away. I watched her go, then turned my eyes towards the waves that brushed the far horizon, feeling glad that for once, she had listened to me.


	6. Gold

**Gold**

* * *

When the Brundisium harbor came into view, I breathed a long, grateful sigh. After so many days at sea, the sight of land was a pleasant one. Glimmering waters of bright, crystalline blue swept up towards pebbled shores that housed a number of docks, some of them well kept, others crumbling away into rotted decrepitude. The simple villas dotting the cliffs formed a sprawl of white, and the merchants at the base of the verdant mountains boasted a wealth of fresh fish and oysters. This was a village long swept by briny winds, a small, quaint gem nestled along the coves of the brilliant blue sea. It was nothing as showy and resplendent as Alexandria, and yet, I had never been so glad to see it.

As the _thalamegos_ drifted towards the dock, and Octavian assumed a victor's stance at the front of the prow, I stole a glance at Alexander and Selene. The two of them were watching the little city with wide, wondering eyes, and I heard Alexander asking in Parthian what would happen to them next. The harbor waters rolled at our approach, smooth like glass. And when the boat finally docked, Octavian and Agrippa were the first to disembark, the red tufts on their helmets unmistakable. I followed, desperate to trade ship for land, with the children stumbling close behind me.

I heard Alexander say something to Selene. "I'm fine," she assured him impatiently. But it had been days since we'd set foot on land, and I watched as her unsteady legs gave out beneath her. She cried her brother's name as she fell. "Alexander!"

I reached out to catch her before she toppled to the ground, but my effort was thwarted by someone much quicker. I knew from his sun-washed skin and flaxen hair that it was Marcellus, Octavian's heir and the son of his sister, Octavia. I watched as he caught Selene by the waist and gently helped her to her feet. Something flickered in her eyes when he smiled at her, and I felt a tightening in my stomach when I realized what had happened in that short, meaningful moment. Marcellus was ridiculously handsome, after all. It didn't take a fool to know that the princess was instantly smitten.

"Be _careful_ ," Marcellus said with a laugh, and Selene blushed. He beamed at her, and held her eyes with his. From the look on Selene's face, I was certain she would almost never look away from him, not even if someone scooped her up and dragged her halfway across the seashore. Which was tempting, by the way.

"Now, don't faint on me," Marcellus warned her. "I'm the one who's supposed to take care of you."

"You're Marcellus?" Alexander asked curiously.

"Yes, and there she is." He pointed towards one of the carriages, but his vivid blue eyes were on Selene, who gaped at him with curiosity.

"That's a king's carriage," she said.

He laughed. "I wouldn't say that too loudly. My uncle likes to think of himself as consul. If the people should get the idea he wants to be king, there'll be another mess on the Senate floor." At this, the children began to pepper him with questions, which Marcellus brightly answered as he helped them into the carriage. When they had settled in, he hopped down onto the pebbled earth and strode towards me. Great.

"Juba! Agrippa!" he called. "It's wonderful to see the two of you again."

Agrippa embraced him, while I merely gave a cool nod.

"You're looking well, Agrippa. I think the Egyptian sun did some good on your skin. And Juba." He turned to me with a playful frown while I fixed him with a bored stare. "What's with the tall, dark, long-haired look you have going on? This _might_ come as a little surprise to you — though perhaps not —but those ladies at the dock have been staring in your direction this entire time." We all turned casually to have a look, and sure enough, a cluster of bronze, slender women carrying baskets of fresh-caught fish smiled and giggled in my direction. My standoffish demeanor crumpled, and I ran a nervous hand through my hair to hide my embarrassment.

"Anyway," Marcellus said, with a mischievous smile. "Tell me. What was Egypt like?"

"Dry," I commented, after a thought. "With a lot of sand."

Agrippa smiled at my humor. "I wouldn't say it was _that_ unremarkable. The culture is intriguing, to say the least."

"And the Egyptian _women?_ " Marcellus pressed eagerly, arching his eyebrows.

I recalled the women we had passed on the streets and within the palace, with their kohl-streaked eyes, elegant wigs, and cheeks coated in silvery dust. They'd been quite flirtatious with me, with some even offering to pay _me_ for a night in my bed. But then I thought of Selene. I thought of her startling green-eyed stare, and how affectionately they'd gazed at Marcellus when he'd stopped her fall. She would never look at me with such eyes. That much was for certain. I gave a wry laugh. "They would have _swooned_ at your presence," I promised. "Falling into your arms like the princess Selene."

She had heard me, I realized with vindictive satisfaction. I saw her cheeks blush with just before she dipped her head beneath the carriage window, sliding hastily from sight.

* * *

After ten days of traveling along the dusty road, we finally reached Rome. As I dismounted my horse and gazed along the sprawling expanse, I realized just how sorely I missed the city in my absence: everything from the corridors of stone that swept along cobblestone paths, winding to and fro; the Palatine and its polished marble villas; the Tiber River, slicing its way through the city like a ribbon of glass. Rome was nothing perfect, its grimy underbelly hidden beneath a layer of gloss and graffiti and marble, but I was glad to see it nonetheless.

When we arrived at the Palatine, soldiers began to unload the cargo from the carriages — Egyptian statues, ebony chests, and an assortment of gold artifacts. Octavian led Selene and Alexander to his sister's marble villa, Agrippa striding closely behind them. I could see Octavia waiting for them on her portico, donned in a stola made of magnificent Tyrian purple, her daughters standing obediently at her side. But instead of following Octavian, I quietly excused myself.

There was the matter of providing the Ptolemy children with proper funds while they were within Rome. They had no wealth to their name, aside from their crowns and Selene's pearl necklace — but those were fragments of their past that could never be traded or sold. They needed gold to support their livelihood, and I was determined to help in any way possible. As I made my way to the Temple of Saturn, drawing my cloak around my chin to shield the biting night air, I recalled a time when I had been in their position. Stripped from home with not a single _denarius_ to my name. Young, bitter, and scared for my future. There were times when I could not even afford a simple pair of sandals, and I was determined to make sure neither of them would have to struggle with such a harsh life.

I was greeted at the temple by Argentatus, my banker. He was pleased to see me, offering me rich wine and a plate of warm _ofellae_. " _Salve,_ Juba! Welcome home, my friend!"

"Thank you," I said, with a polite dip of the head. "It's a pleasure to be in Rome again."

"I'm sure it is. Though I must say, I'm surprised to see you so soon! Shouldn't you be celebrating your return home with the Octavii?"

"Later, perhaps. I have financial matters to attend to first."

He swept his hands out wide. "Then please, allow me to assist you."

I smiled. "I'm sure you must know of the children Caesar has taken under his wing?"

"The offspring scum of that son-of-a-whore traitor Marc Antony? Certainly, I know of them. Word travels fast in this city."

At the word _scum,_ my fingers tightened into fists. But my voice was cool as I said, "Yes, well, I would like to make a transfer of gold to the accounts of Kleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios."

When I scribbled the amount of gold I wished to assign to them, Argentatus stared.

"You…you are certain? That is a very… _generous_ sum."

"I am never uncertain, Argentatus," I said calmly.

He chuckled. "Well, I am certain Caesar's wards will be very grateful for your generosity."

"Actually, I would prefer this to remain private," I said, and the banker's eyes widened. "Please add the funds anonymously. And should anyone inquire about any of this, I ask that you refrain from mentioning my name."

"Yes, sir…very well."

When the last gold coin was counted into the children's bank, I stepped out into the cool night air and began a quiet walk home.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

More important characters to add:

 **Marcellus.** Son of Octavia and her first husband, Gaius Claudius Marcellus.

 **Octavia.** Sister to Octavian; former wife of Marc Antony

And a few terms:

 **thalamegos.** A type of ancient Greek ship. The name means "cabin-carrier."

 **ofella.** The ancient Roman version of pizza made of baked dough but without the tomatoes, which were unknown to the Romans at that time. The plural is _ofellae._


	7. Actum

**Actum**

* * *

The Feast of Victory was to be held at Octavia's villa that night, in celebration of our happy return to the city. I found myself wishing that I could be anywhere else in the world as I donned a long, vermillion toga and laced up a pair of high sandals. I let my dark hair fall at my shoulders before tucking my ivory dagger into the leather sheath at my thigh. Then I walked the sloping trail to the house of Octavia, which glimmered with lights and carried the sounds of laughter, of clinking wine glasses. I sighed, feeling incredibly distant. This was going to be a long night.

When I arrived at the _triclinium_ , I paused to speak with Gallia at its entrance. She was as beautiful as ever, dressed in an elegant turquoise _stola_ that swept from her lithe shoulders all the way to her glittering sandals. Her eyes were as blue as seawater lit by sunlight, and threads of gold had been looped in her long braid of blond hair, which tumbled and shimmered to the bottom of her waist. Though a Princess of Gaul and an accomplished _ornatrix_ , she was still a slave to Octavia. They cared for each other very much, but I always swore Octavia ought to care more by granting Gallia's freedom. She deserved it, after all. There was almost no other woman on the Palatine whose heart contained so much kindness. I still remember the first time I met her, when I was just a scared, orphaned child lost in the foreign realm of Rome. I'd spent most of the night sobbing into my pillow, longing for my mother, but Gallia had appeared at my door shortly after, bringing with her a bowl of fruit for us to share. She spoke with me for a while, and soon after that, she began to appear each and every night, and we'd sit together and talk, and she'd assure me that so long as I was alive, there would be a future for me here. She'd kept me safe all these years, and in doing so, the two of us had forged a bond something akin to family.

Now, standing in the atrium of Octavia's glimmering villa, I couldn't help but smile at the woman who was like a sister to me. " _Salve,_ Gallia."

" _Salve,_ " she said merrily, and then she leaned close to me to whisper in her native Gallic tongue, "Verrius is on his way."

"And the actum?" I asked, speaking Gaulish as well. Hardly any Romans spoke the language of the so-called _barbaric_ Gauls, so our conversation was not at risk of being overheard.

"He will pay someone to post it at the temple," Gallia said swiftly.

I nodded approvingly. While I was away in Alexandria, she and her lover Magister Verrius had taken to posting actum all across Rome under the guise of my second identity, The Red Eagle. These scrolls were the only way to appeal to the patricians, to make them realize the depravity of Roman slavery and plebeian mistreatment, and the need for it to come to an end. Both Gallia and Verrius were trustworthy. Gallia was a slave, after all, and would be unable to marry Verrius until she saw freedom. I trusted them with my life, and I was certain they would never reveal the truth — that even while working under Octavian, even after saving his life at the Battle of Actium, I was a crusader slipping secretly around the streets of Rome, forcing the wealthy to look into the eyes of justice.

I nodded at Gallia's news. "Thank you," I murmured, before walking towards the couches.

"Certainly. And Juba—" I paused, and she smiled at me. "It is good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same," I teased with a mocking sigh, making her laugh.

The feast was nothing short of ostentatious, as always. Crystal goblets brimmed with seasoned wine, bronze bowls of roasted goose and olives lay nestled between platters of fresh oysters, silvered dishes were made heavy by ripe figs and almonds. But I could hardly pay any mind to the food, let alone the chatter that seemed to swell all around me. I wondered of Verrius instead, hoping he had managed to post my actum without issue. I laced my fingers in quiet reserve, lost in my thoughts — that is, until Selene caught my eye. She was struggling to get comfortable on one of the couches, shifting to and fro with a perplexed frown. I almost started laughing, I had never seen something so hilarious. In Egypt, it was customary to sit at tables with stools to dine. But in Rome, we reclined on sofas. Selene couldn't quite understand that, and her struggle was amusing me for some reason. I smiled at her and teased, "Just like a Roman now. And I must say, a tunic suits you much better than a chiton. You've even donned the _bulla_ ," I added, referring to the Roman amulet hanging around her neck, which was worn by children for protection against evil.

Though I was only joking with her, Selene narrowed her eyes. "It belongs to Octavia."

"But you wear it so _well_."

Selene opened her mouth to retort, but Octavia smiled and said, "Alexander, Selene, I see you've met Juba." I grinned over at Selene's grudging face, noting with amusement that she clearly disliked my dry humor. "Perhaps you remember Maecenas as well," Octavia continued. "And this is Maecenas' wife, Terentilla." She nodded at Caesar's beautiful mistress, whose luminous eyes were like the glimmer of light on water. Introductions were said, and gradually talk turned towards Octavian's spoils from war. I narrowed my eyes, watching as chest after chest was brought out, and servants held the children's stolen inheritance for all to see.

"This is called the Eye of Horus," Octavian said grandly, holding up a small faience amulet that made Selene wrinkle her nose in distaste. "And this is a statue of the war goddess Sekhmet."

I stared at the tiny granite sculpture, watching as it was passed into Terentilla's graceful hands. She stroked the goddess's leonine face with an expression of wonder. "Can you imagine worshiping a goddess with a lion's head?" she asked me. "I've heard they have a goddess with a hippo's head as well!"

"Tarawet," Selene said, and everyone turned to her in surprise. Her eyes were dark with criticism as she continued, "They are old gods, and today the people worship Isis, who is no different from your Venus."

"I think what Selene is trying to say," I said, feigning a slight sneer, "is that the Ptolemies do not worship goddesses with animal heads anymore, but women with wings."

"I believe your Cupid has wings as well," she retorted, and I stared at her, both annoyed and impressed by her witticism. The guests around the table laughed, except for Octavian. He produced a drawing on papyrus then, and passed it around the table.

"What is _that?"_ Terentilla gasped.

"An image of Alexandria by Kleopatra Selene," Octavian answered. "The princess appears to have great talent in art."

The sketch passed from one pair of hands to the next, as everyone admired the princess's work. I was stunned, looking at the drawing a second time. She'd captured the sweeping streets and and towering obelisks with such intricate detail that I thought her skills rivaled that of an accomplished architect. My eyes met hers, but their green depths were filled with hostility, and I quickly looked away.

The feast dragged on well into the night, with more dishes being laid out by the minute. Bowls of honeyed thrush, ostrich roasted with stewed prunes, and heavy crabs nestled upon beds of cabbage suddenly appeared. There were snails and peacocks and who knows what else. And as I sat at the table, I couldn't quite believe the _enthusiastic_ way the guests shoveled down their food. There were moments when I wondered if someone would perhaps choke to death. I was just thinking of excusing myself, longing for a respite from all this dull eating and chattering. But then the doors to the triclinium flung open, and a soldier stormed inside. His boots thrummed along the tiles of blue-veined marble, and the red feathers on his helm swayed as he walked. One look at his haggard face, and I knew at once that Verrius had been successful. He must have found and paid someone to post the actum and then neatly covered his tracks. I didn't dare look to Gallia, but I knew what she was thinking.

"What is this?" Octavian demanded. He rose sharply to his feet. Agrippa and I did the same.

The soldier lowered himself on one knee. "Forgive me, Caesar, but there is news I thought you might want to hear."

I played my part swiftly, demanding, "Has our illustrious traitor been caught?"

"No, but one of the Red Eagle's followers—"

"Are the soldiers glorifying him as well?" Octavian bellowed.

The soldier stepped back. "No. I—I meant to say the _traitor_." He cleared his throat. "One of the traitor's followers was discovered posting this on the Temple of Jupiter." He produced a scroll, which Octavian snatched into his weathered hands. I recognized Magister Verrius' neat penmanship lining the parchment. "Another actum. And the symbol of the same red eagle is at the bottom."

"Has this man been tortured?" Octavian demanded, his eyes glinting with menace.

"Yes."

"And what has he said?"

"That he was paid by a stranger in the Forum to nail it up."

I thought of Verrius approaching the man in the night, giving him gold in exchange for this deed. It was a heavy price to pay, and I hadn't thought he would be caught. But nothing else could be done now. Verrius had done his job, avoiding any suspicion in the process.

"And who was this stranger?" Octavian continued his interrogation.

The soldier shook his head. "He swears it was a farmer."

Octavian's face was one that seethed for murder. "The man who produces this cannot be a farmer. He is literate and has access to the Palatine. He is a soldier, or a guard, or a very foolish senator. The man is lying!" He spat.

Livia, Octavian's wife, smoothly rose from her seat. "Chop off his hand," she said simply, and I felt my heart race with dismay, "and nail it to the Senate door."

The soldier looked for confirmation from Octavian.

"Yes," Octavian agreed. "And if he still doesn't remember who paid him to post this, then crucify him. Agrippa will make sure that it's done." The soldier hesitated, and Octavian's face twisted as he shouted, " _Go!_ "

An uneasy silence descended upon the triclinium, save for the muted trickling of fountain water. Plates of food were now untouched, and wine lay still in their glasses. Everyone looked to Octavian, who snapped at the harpist, "Keep playing!" The girl placed her trembling hands on the strings, and it was only when Octavian resumed his seat that the room swelled with hushed, nervous conversation. A cold wind blew in from the gardens, stirring the curtains that fringed the open windows. I stared distantly at my plate of food, not feeling very hungry at all. I was just wondering whether or not I should excuse myself when Selene's voice caught my attention.

"I don't understand," she was whispering to Octavia. "Who is the Red Eagle?"

Octavia stole an uneasy glance in her brother's direction, but he was busy muttering instructions to Agrippa. "A man who wants to put an end to slavery," she explained quietly.

Selene, I noted, was very curious about my alter ego. "Then he's inspiring slaves to rebel?" she asked.

"No," Octavia breathed. She shifted uncomfortably, and her eyes flicked once again to Octavian before settling on Selene. "The attempts to do that have already failed. Slaves have no weapons or organization."

Alexander tilted his head to the side. "So what does he want?"

"For the _patricians_ to rebel," Octavia explained, and I had to press my lips together to keep from smiling. "He wants men with money and the power in the Senate to put an end to servitude."

"And he thinks that will happen?" Alexander asked incredulously.

Octavia's smile was sad. "No. The most he can hope for is a leniency of the laws."

I'd listened patiently to their conversation, curious to hear Octavia's perspectives of my efforts thus far, but now I chose to speak. "And if he thinks he will achieve even that, then he's a fool," I said. My voice was harsh, rugged like metal grazing stone, and I tried to sound disapproving as I essentially criticized myself. "Rome will always have its slaves. Gauls, Germans —"

"Egyptians, Mauretanians," Selene spat, and I turned to study her curiously. Her eyes were blazing, and I could see her hand trembling with anger as she lowered her water glass. "If not for accident of Fortune," she continued hotly, "you and I might be slaves as well!" She tore her gaze away from me then, almost as if looking me in the face brought her too much rage. Alexander looked absolutely horrified, and even Octavia seemed startled by her outburst. I'm certain they thought I was insulted, but that could not have been further from the truth. I wasn't insulted. I wasn't even angry. On the contrary, I was impressed. Her belligerence might have been disconcerting, but her words rang true. She was absolutely right: if not for the grace of Fortuna, the two of us would have likely been thrown into slavehood as well. But I'd managed to carve a life and a place alongside Caesar, proving myself to be an indispensable ally. Perhaps Selene would be able to do the same. I kept her scathing words in my thoughts for the rest of the evening, and even though the princess refused to so much as look at me, I could not help but gaze at her in wonder.

* * *

 _Note —_ some terms from this chapter:

 **bulla.** An amulet worn around the neck by Roman children for protection against evil.

 **chiton.** A long garment worn by both Greek men and women and held together at the shoulders by pins.

 **Gaul/Gallic.** Terms that refer to the continental western Europe between the Rhine and the Pyrenees, inhabited by Celtic tribes.

 **ornatrix.** A woman skilled in hair arrangement and makeup.

 **triclinium.** The dining room in a Roman household, so named for the three couches on which diners reclined and ate.


	8. Triumph

**Triumph**

* * *

The Triumph was set to begin. Thousands of Romans swelled in the narrow streets, crowding towards the Senate in their finest togas. A seamless blue sky stretched above the cobbled avenues and marble colonnades, while horns blared in unison into the air. I stared into the enormous crowd with watchful eyes, trying not to feel hot underneath my soldier's garb. Like Octavian and Agrippa, I had donned everything from the crimson cloak to the bronze _galea_ helmet plumed with red. The hundreds of soldiers behind us were dressed in similar attire, sunlight gleaming on their shields and breastplates, eyes brimming with pride for Caesar's countless victories.

In the midst of all the revelry, Alexander and Selene stood together at the base of the Senate. I could see fear and uncertainty upon their faces as they looked out at the tremendous swell of people. The princess had been given a Grecian gown of white, its hem adorned with a ribbon of Tyrian purple. Like her brother, a glittering diadem lay nestled in her hair, the only indication of the twin's royal heritage. When an old man approached them, he held out a pair of chains. I briefly closed my eyes, remembering how I, too, had been shackled and forced to parade through the city, a token of Octavian's conquest.

"For the children," the old man said, and Selene looked up at Agrippa with a look of near shock.

"It is only for the Triumph," Agrippa said quietly. Although he looked distinctly uncomfortable, he instructed Selene to hold out her hands. To my relief, someone had instructed him not to chain their necks. I saw several tears slip from beneath the princess's closed eyes as the manacles were secured at her wrists. But when Agrippa moved to shackle her brother, she noticed a senator pointing and laughing in her direction, and the tears came to an immediate stop. Instead, she lifted her chin in an act of defiance, as if clinging to the last remnants of her regal bearing.

I walked beside her as we led them through the double doors into the Forum. Selene tripped over her tunic, and I spoke harshly to her. "Keep walking." It was the only way to appear inconspicuous, especially after surreptitiously depositing so much gold into her and her brother's accounts. I was Octavian's spy, after all. And in order to play this part well, I had no choice but to be hard on the children. I could not show a softness — not near Octavian, and certainly not during today's Triumph. This was a day made to honor Caesar, after all. Not orphaned royals. Even Agrippa refused to give the children any sympathy, though I knew it pained him to shackle the them like animals.

Upon my rebuke, Selene straightened up. "I _am_ walking," she snapped.

"Then you can quit feeling sorry for yourself," I said curtly. "You're still alive." It was true; Octavian was not particularly known for his mercy. It was surprising to see him let the children of his worst enemy, Marc Antony, live. When Octavian had conquered my home of Numidia and stripped my father from his throne, not even my older brother had been spared. He had been slaughtered like the rest of my family, leaving only the memory of his crooked grin and almond eyes. But Selene was still alive and breathing, with her brother right beside her. And that was good enough.

It was utter chaos along the avenue. Thousands of people cheered, danced, and sang in celebration of Octavian's victory over Antony. Soldiers stood with their shields at the ready, pushing back any plebeians that drew too close to the procession. I led the children towards a wooden float, which had been crudely constructed to resemble an Egyptian chamber. Even worse, someone had built a wax replica of Kleopatra at its center, lying on couch with a cobra coiled between her breasts. It was incredibly depraving to look at, and I was furious that someone had chosen to insult the children this way.

"Don't look," Alexander told Selene angrily. "They want us to weep in front of Rome."

They certainly did. I looked down at Selene, who bit her lip to keep from crying. Then I pointed to a pair of gilded thrones, where they were expected to sit. "You will not move," I told them. "Or even think of escape," I added, looking pointedly to Selene, whose light green eyes flashed as if she were already considering the challenge. "There are thousands of soldiers here today, and every one of them would love to claim that he killed one of Marc Antony's children."

Selene sat obediently, though her eyes conveyed nothing but hate. I forced myself to turn away from her and made my way towards Octavian. He stood upon a golden chariot, flanked by his wife and sister. His face was painted dark red to remind the people of Jupiter, the father of the gods and administrator of justice. I cleanly mounted my horse, and, after a nod in Agrippa's direction, we rode alongside Octavian's chariot.

A horn sounded, and the procession moved forward. The Triumph had begun.

Soldiers and senators alike began a slow crawl towards the Temple of Jupiter, waving and smiling at the cheering crowds. The streets were wild, thick with rivers of people, and the sound of their shouts was almost deafening. When they hurled insults at Selene and Alexander, my spine stiffened, and my hand instinctively brushed the hilt of my sword. But to my relief, no one spat at the children, or else pelted them with stones. It would be unwise, in any case, especially given their proximity to Octavian. So while some shouted themselves hoarse at Antony's descendants, others marveled at the floats that carried Alexandrian treasures of gold and silver behind them. Horses stomped their hooves, kicking up clouds of dust. Banners of red streamed like cloth waterfalls from the tops of the porticoes. A statue of Anubis had been erected in a courtyard alongside the street, and a sign beneath its snarling fangs read _Barking Anubis Has Been Tamed_. In the midst of all the commotion, Octavian smiled through his crimson mask. His head was wreathed in laurel, while Livia waved proudly at his side. I kept my eyes on the crowd, watching for the slightest hint of danger. Should someone attempt to assassinate Octavian — or even the children — I would see them silenced in a heartbeat.

At length we came to the Temple of Jupiter, and the procession finally rolled to a stop. Marcellus, who was riding a horse beside Livia's son Tiberius, caught sight of Selene and Alexander and dismounted at once. "What is this?" he raged, looking between the children, and the chains that bound them to the float. "Somebody take off these chains!"

An old senator hobbled forward and produced a key. When he moved slowly, Marcellus shouted again at him. "Today!"

I dismounted my horse and followed Octavian into the cool, gloomy recesses of the temple, leaving the noise of the crowd behind. Everyone from the procession followed, including Selene and Alexander. But as we were shown inside, I noticed a hooded old priest make his way towards the children. Even from where I stood, I could see his rotten teeth and splotched skin. He murmured something to Selene, then slipped a note into her hand.

"A thousand blessings," he said in a louder voice, before walking away.

I thought of following the man, but then decided better of it. Instead I watched Selene adjust the brooch at her shoulder, slipping the scrap of paper underneath before re-pinning it. Then she looked around to make sure no one had seen. Was she serious? I glared at her until her eyes finally flicked to me. She paled at the cold look on my face, and nearly stumbled on her toga as Octavian ushered our group into the main chamber. She avoided my gaze for the rest of the Triumph's proceedings, but I did not look away from the foolish girl once.

* * *

Gallia and Verrius listened intently as I explained what had happened inside the temple. We sat before a flickering brazier, drinking mild wine and picking at a bowl of pomegranate seeds. We only had a few moments to speak with one another before the Feast of Triumph — another ridiculous show of wealth and gluttony to celebrate Octavian's success. "Someone likely offered her help," I explained irritably. "A chance to escape to Egypt — but for what? Everyone expects some kind of payment." My hand rushed agitatedly through my long hair, as if somehow the repeated motion could bring me some semblance of calm. "She's a princess, after all. Only a fool would return her to her homeland for free."

"You think she will try to sneak away?" Verrius asked in disbelief.

"Oh, of course," I said simply. "She's impulsive. Brash. Belligerent. I have half the mind to believe she's going to try and escape tonight." I gave a mirthless laugh. "I'd _love_ to see her try it. I'll be watching her every moment."

"As will I," Gallia said, and when I looked to her, she explained, "I am her _ornatrix_ for this evening. I will keep an eye on her while I prepare her hair and makeup for the feast."

I nodded. "Thank you. I want to see her and her brother to return to Egypt, but now is not that time. And it _certainly_ won't be through some Roman stranger who I assume is only interested in _gold._ " My voice was scathing. "And young girls." I leaned forward and stared into the depths of the brazier, watching its flames lick at the air. "I would rather die than see anything happen to her."

Gallia was watching me closely. "You care for the children, don't you?"

"I do," I admitted. "Though in the case of Selene, I'm not entirely sure why. The girl seems to enjoy treading on thin ice."

"She's very kind to me," Gallia said gently. "She treats me like an equal, not like a slave."

"I've heard she is very smart," Verrius added. "Speaks four languages, if I'm not mistaken." He rolled his eyes. "My students can barely speak _Latin,_ let alone read it."

"She was well-educated in Egypt, I assume," I said. "Very sharp for her age. But _very_ stubborn. She'll be the death of me someday." I hesitated, then decided to confide a little stiffly, "Octavian wishes for her to be my wife."

Gallia's eyes were huge with shock, but Verrius was nodding sagely. "A prince of Numidia to marry a princess of Egypt. It makes perfect sense. And there is no one Octavian trusts more than you, Juba."

"Agrippa," I countered swiftly.

"Certainly. But you have saved Octavian's life on more than one occasion. You are his _loyal_ spy and watchful aide."

"And worst enemy," I said with a laugh. "He would slay me in a heartbeat if he knew I was the Red Eagle."

"It's a good thing he'll never find out, then," Verrius said firmly. Then he rose to his feet, straightening his toga and smoothing his sleek black hair. "We had best prepare for the feast." He extended his arm to Gallia, and she gracefully rose to take his hand. The pair of them left, but I remained seated in my chamber, staring into brazier flames with only Selene on the rim of my mind.

* * *

 _Note:_

 **galea.** A Roman soldier's helmet.


	9. Escape

**Escape**

* * *

Another evening of dining and ludicrous indulgence awaited me at Octavian's villa.

I sat quietly at the table, merely picking at some roast pheasant while the senators and their wives slopped down an assortment of food and wine. The _triclinium_ had been decorated in Egyptian splendor, swathed in silks and glittering with sphinxes made of gold. Incense burned and billowed into the air, carrying the desert scents of myrrh and kyphi. Even the guests had dressed offensively for the occasion, donned in linen sheaths and jeweled pectorals, their eyes rimmed in kohl and malachite. Women wore golden snakes on their arms, with short black wigs cut neatly to the chin. And as I gazed around, listening to the pluck of the harp echoing in the crowded chamber, I almost sneered at such ignorance. All of this, simply for the sake of mocking Egypt's defeat. Even worse, Selene and Alexander were dressed in Egyptian fashion that had not been seen in three hundred years. Alexander had been given a blue-and-gold _nemes_ crown, while Selene wore a beaded Nubian wig that looked much too large for her. The pair sat awkwardly through the dinner, and I could tell that the sight of guests wearing Egyptian clothing made them uncomfortable. This dinner was a pale, pathetic attempt to capture their culture, more reminiscent of the old Egyptian ways rather than current ones.

I kept my eye on Selene for most of the feast, wary of the mysterious note the priest had passed her. It wasn't until sunset when she rose to her feet. "Excuse me," I heard her say to Alexander. "I think I will go and sit with Octavia." Her brother angrily whispered to her, but she shook her head and left the table. My eyes narrowed, and I excused myself from my own table to follow her.

I found her slipping through the gardens, curls lit by the hanging lanterns, sandals whispering along a path of marbled stone. Naturally, I'd expected nothing less. I followed quietly, keeping to the shadows and pausing once or twice to nod at a wine-drunk senator. Gradually the sun dipped beneath the horizon, leaving only a sky of deep purple that eventually turned to black. And still, Selene continued through the darkness, keeping to the illuminated path as it curled down the hill, far below the villas and the safety of the Palatine.

I was fuming. I could not believe the danger Selene was putting herself in by sneaking away into the city. Could she really be so foolish? Octavian would punish her should he find out, but that would be nothing compared to what might happen if she encountered a stranger. Selene was _safe_ on the Palatine. She was well-cared for by Octavia and Gallia. She had her brother and a handful of friends, including Marcellus. She had the large pool of gold that I had anonymously given her, a roof over her head, and people who cared dearly for her. So what was the matter with her? Why couldn't she simply put her misfortune behind her for the time being, and accept that? I had fought in Rome for _everything_ after I'd been captured at war. I had saved and struggled and made a life for myself. Here I was, helping this princess avoid living the same harsh, dismal life — and she was risking her neck by running off into the night. I was angry and bitter, and wished the girl would at least have as much common sense as her brother.

The paths were thick with people heading either to the Palatine or home to their villas. Selene navigated easily, pausing only to speak with a priest in a small temple to Jupiter at the base of the hill.

"Do you know where I might find the Campus Martius?"

I frowned. _Campus Martius?_ Why in the world would she want to go there? I kept to the trees for a moment, thinking. The only place near the Campus that she might possibly be seeking was the Temple of Isis. It was the sole Roman temple that worshipped gods of Egypt in the entire city. Perhaps one of their priests had sought to _help_ her. With strings attached, I'm sure.

My fingers tightened on the blade at my waist. I continued to follow Selene as she moved onward. She was hurrying down the steep path now, sending pebbles and grit clattering along with her. But while she took the path, I kept to the trees that lined it, melting away into the shadows. Bands of drunken men lumbered up the road, some of them calling out to her, inviting her to drink with them.

"Well isn't she an image of _Isis?_ "

"Look at the wig and gold on that one!"

"Come here, my pretty Egyptian queen. There's a thing or two I'd like to teach you about Rome."

But she simply ignored them, weaving through the crowd even as their dark eyes glittered and leered at her. I made to follow, but there were too many people cluttering the path. For a moment, Selene was lost in the swell of drunks. A new sense of urgency surged through me. I scanned for her wig and her diadem, but she was nowhere to be seen. And then I heard her voice.

"Get off of me!"

I swung around to see a paunchy man had grabbed her wrist, and was dragging her towards the copse of trees while his friends laughed and looked on.

"What's the matter?" he said, as she struggled against him. And then he pressed his lips against hers.

Instantly, I saw red. Nothing but red, as a sheer, terrifying rage swept through me. It was vicious and uncontrollable, and I felt it claim my body in an instant. I could not think. I could only move, striding forward with my dagger unsheathed. Never had I felt this way. I had killed for Octavian numerous times, but that had been for traitors, for threats. I had killed in war, but that was for survival. But _this,_ this desire to kill, to murder this man — was something foreign. Something personal. Killing him was suddenly the only thing that mattered in this world.

The man pulled her into the woods with him and flung her to the ground. He pinned her there and clambered on top of her, his breathing ragged, heavy with excitement.

He reached one hand under her tunic, but my knife was too quick. I plunged it deep into his throat, splintering his gullet apart. His scream became a labored gurgle as I dragged the blade along the entirety of his neck, snapping every tendon in two. Rivulets of hot blood ran from the tips of my fingers, dripping into the ground. I stared coldly into the man's pained black eyes, watching with satisfaction until they glazed over, leaving only nothingness. I withdrew my knife from his bloodied flesh, and the man dropped like a stone to the ground. Using a cloth from my satchel, I meticulously wiped the blade clean and holstered it. Then I looked around for Selene. But she was already running away again, bounding down the cobbled path with her curls flying behind her. Furious, I raced after her.

She was almost to the bottom of the hill when I grabbed her hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" she cried out, clearly frightened.

Then she turned around, and her eyes widened when she recognized me in the pale lantern light. I seized her by both arms and shook her. Adrenalin from killing a man, coupled with my fear for Selene's safety, seemed to have drawn out my temper. I couldn't contain myself as I shouted at her. "What are you doing out here?!"

"I'm—" she spluttered.

"Think carefully before you lie," I snarled. When she didn't say anything, I decided to voice my suspicion. "You were going to the Temple of Isis."

Still, she said nothing. But the panic in her eyes was confirmation enough. Without another word, I grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her up the hill, back to the Palatine where a foolish girl like her wouldn't be a danger to herself any longer.

"You're hurting me!" she cried.

I was almost too angry to speak. "You were prepared to risk worse!" I shouted. I thought of that large, sweaty man on top of her, his thick fingers ripping at her tunic. Disgusted, I quickened my pace.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice trembling. The question was so stupidly obvious that I chose not to answer. Of course I was taking her back to the Palatine. There was a brief pause, and then she asked quietly, "Did you kill that man?"

 _No, I took him out for a nice dinner,_ I wanted to respond, but instead a shot her a glare and said, "Would you rather he lived?"

We continued up the slope. My grip on Selene's arm refused to lighten. "You have no right to touch me," she said, trying to pull away. "I'm a princess of Egypt!"

I stopped on the path and swung around to face her. "And what do you think makes a _princess_?" I demanded sharply.

She raised her chin at me. "Her education."

I laughed derisively. "Her gold! Did you really think the High Priest was going to help you return to Egypt out of _kindness_?" I raised my eyebrows in sheer disbelief at the princess's ignorance. Was she really that simple? "I saw what he gave you at the Temple of Jupiter, and there's only one reason he would contact you. He wanted payment. Of one kind—" My eyes lingered on her glittering diadem — "or another." I stared pointedly at the tear in her tunic. Evidence that the man I'd killed had almost gotten what he wanted. Almost.

"No." Selene shook her head. "Not a high priest of Isis."

"Oh _no,_ " I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm. "And not a citizen of _Rome_. Do you understand what that man would have done to you?"

"Of course!"

"The understand this." I leaned into her and spoke fiercely, hoping to frighten some sense into the girl. "Women who walk the streets by themselves get kidnapped by men and sold as slaves. So far, Fortuna has smiled on you, although I have no idea why she wastes her time on such a pampered little girl. You have your brother in Rome, a tidy sum in the Temple of Saturn for whatever you need —"

"I don't have any _sum_ ," she said, frowning.

"Of course you do. I know because I transferred it there myself." I spoke quickly, before she could ask anymore questions about the gold. "So unlike some of us who were captured at war, _Your Highness_ will never have to dirty her fingers to make her way in Rome. Octavia may want to see you survive, but I can promise you this: Fortuna's smiles don't last forever. And if I ever hear of escape or rebellion associated with your name, I will not bother to knife the next man in the back."

I released her arm and she staggered backwards. She stared at me for a long moment, and then said, "You're Octavian's man through and through."

She had no idea. Everything I had done so far, I had done for the people of Rome. Inciting slave rebellions, posting actum to call for an end to servitude, struggling to free Gallia from slavehood, so that she would be able to marry Magister Verrius at last. But Selene wasn't to know this. No one but Gallia and Verrius knew the truth. So I squared my shoulders and smiled darkly at her. "That's right. Everything belongs to Caesar."

"Not me!"

"Yes, even you, _Princess_."

A group of men dressed as Egyptian pharaohs passed, eyeing me warily. I took this as a cue to continue up the hill to the Palatine, holding Selene by the arm the entire way.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked again.

I nearly rolled my eyes. "Back to where you belong," I snapped, leading her into the vestibulum of Octavia's villa. She appeared rather quickly, with Alexander and Marcellus behind her.

"Selene!" Octavia cried. "We couldn't find you anywhere. We thought you were —" She looked to me and stopped abruptly, her eyes wary. "You weren't planning on running away."

"No," I lied swiftly. "I found her near the Temple of Jupiter. I think she was planning on making an offering."

Although Octavia fixed Selene with soft eyes, I knew she was fully aware of what the girl had attempted — I wouldn't have been escorting her otherwise. She thanked me for bringing Selene back into her charge, then ushered the children into their room. I left for the night, feeling strangely hollow, as if seeing Selene's green eyes would somehow make me feel whole again. Saving her life had changed something in me, but I didn't rightly know what. And when I reached my villa, I changed clothes and stumbled into bed, wishing the blankets were like a water that I could sink into, deeper and deeper until I'd left everything behind me. But my racing thoughts kept me awake, and it wasn't until dawn that I finally managed to stumble my way into sleep.


	10. Promise

**Promise**

* * *

I spent the next morning organizing the return of twenty slaves to Gaul. While Octavian was busy planning his memoirs with his wife, I swiftly departed the Palatine, informing anybody who asked that I was out to inspect a few sculptures from Greece. Instead I donned a blond wig and heavy blue cloak, and made my way to a slave trader I knew well. A few sacks of gold was all it took to purchase the children's freedom. I contacted a few legionnaires as well, bribed them for their troubles, and arranged for them to escort the children to their parents in Gaul.

When those matters were finished, I made my way towards the Circus Maximus, the grand concrete _stadia_ where most games were held. Though the main streets were mostly empty, I opted to take the thinner alleyways, crossing in and out of the shafts of morning light. The Circus, of course, was deserted. But the street before its entrance was somewhat lively. Several stalls had begun to open across the way, with many vendors preparing batches of _ofellae,_ or setting out barrels of olives and figs. No one glanced twice in my direction, and I managed to slip inside the _stadia_ unnoticed.

The track was largely untouched, apart from a lone charioteer practicing with his stallion. I knew he would not notice me, so I slipped towards the seats where Octavian's family usually sat. I pulled down the vast awning that normally kept their section shaded and laid it on the ground. I painted a crimson eagle on the awning, the symbol of what I had come to stand for. I kept its wings extended, and added two children in its outstretched talons. The children were meant to depict Selene and Alexander, with diadems on their brows and Egyptian wigs nestled on their heads. And when I'd finally finished, I rose to my feet to watch the sunrise. Slats of sunlight cut through the stadium's arches, catching motes of dust as they fell upon the dirt track. I was lost in thought for a long moment, simply enjoying the peaceful sight. The calm before the storm, as it was so often called. Then I returned the painted awning to its rightful places, knowing fully well that Octavian's family — and Selene and Alexander — would see my handiwork later that day.

Or the Red Eagle's handiwork, I suppose I ought to say.

When I returned to the Palatine, I found that no one had even noticed my absence. I saw the children making their way towards the _ludus_ to be taught by Magister Verrius until noon. Although the heavy fog threatened the sweep the hill, I could still discern Marcellus heading the group, closely followed by Julia, Tiberius, and the twins. I stared at the back of Selene's head, remembering the events that had happened last night, and hoping the foolhardy princess had at least learned her lesson.

Later I sat through several meetings with Agrippa and Octavian, as we discussed our top priorities now that the Triumph was over. First, assign a prefect to Egypt, Second, find and crucify the Red Eagle. Third, keep back any hint of slave rebellion. I sat there like a good spy, taking notes and often throwing out dry jokes that made even Octavian crack a smile.

Around mid-afternoon we decided to have a break. We rode our horses to the shore of the Tiber River, where most of the women sat weaving on a broad portico. Selene, I noticed, was drawing in her calfskin book instead. When she caught me looking, she fixed me with a glare. But that glower turned to bright interest as Marcellus came galloping on horseback down the grassy hill, the filthy amateur, with Alexander and Tiberius following closely on their own stallions from behind. Julia, Octavian's pretty daughter, pushed her long, silky hair from her face and rose to her feet. "They're back!"

Alexander reined in his horse at the edge of the portico, looking triumphant. As his hair caught the light, there was honestly no denying that he was handsome. He had his mother's golden eyes and his father's dark curls, and there was something about his smile that was almost endearing. He seemed completely at ease on his horse, riding with a fluid grace that I honestly thought rivaled only that of a Numidian. I watched with interest as he and Marcellus dismounted.

"Your brother is a fine horseman," Marcellus told Selene with a grin.

"Where did you go?" she asked, lowering her book and sitting upright.

"To the tracks, where the horses raced around poles." Alexander's eyes were shining. "It was better that anything in Alexandria, Selene."

I slid easily off my horse and grinned. "There's something in Rome that's better than Alexandria?"

Octavian smiled at my humor. Then he turned to Alexander with a curious expression. "He's an exemplary horseman. Finer than Marcellus and possibly even as good as Tiberius."

I glanced at Tiberius, the son of Livia and her first husband. He was a tall, slight young man with an acerbic tone that I thought rivaled only that of my own. He was rough around the edges, as any boy of his age would be, but I noted that he never seemed to show any of his mother's tactless cruelty. Lifting one hand to shade his hooded gray eyes from the sun, he said haughtily, "Yes, but what does he know about tactics on the battlefield? You said so yourself. Anyone who hasn't read the Sallust shouldn't be on a horse."

"Well, there's always time to remedy that," Agrippa reminded him.

Tiberius gave a sharp laugh. "You _really_ think he'll be as good of a scholar as I am?"

Agrippa studied Alexander with interest. "You never know."

I clapped my hand on Tiberius's shoulder. "Come into the Tiber River and cool off," I suggested. "It doesn't matter who did better today." I moved towards the still, glassy waters, but stopped when I heard a shout.

"Don't follow him!"

We all turned to see Selene standing on her feet, the curls framing her terrified face. I raised my eyebrows expectantly, and she said, "You shouldn't go into the river. You don't know what's in there."

I burst out laughing. "What, are there sea serpents lurking beneath the waters?"

She regarded me angrily. "Of course not. There are crocodiles."

"Ah." She was thinking of the Nile in Egypt. But this was the Tiber, where the glossy freshwaters were only inhabited by silvery fish and river reeds. I grinned at her, amused. "I am sorry to be the one who must tell you this, Princess, but there are _no crocodiles_ swimming in the Tiber."

She turned to Tiberius for a confirmation, and even he smirked at her. "I guess you don't know everything," he said, making me wonder what had happened this morning in the _ludus_ between them. But I didn't wonder for very long. I was more interested in going for a swim in this heavy heat, plunging into the cool waves without a moment's pause.

* * *

News of the Red Eagle's symbol on an awning in the Circus Maximus spread across the Palatine later that evening.

The Ptolemy twins, along with their usual retinue of Marcellus, Julia, and Gallia, had all been watching the games when it had been lowered above them, revealing my insignia to the entire crowd. There was an uproar as everyone recognized the Red Eagle, wondering how exactly he'd done it. And while the had crowd marveled, I had paid a stranger to post another actum on the Temple of Jupiter's doors. I informed the people how I had freed a hundred and fifty slaves from Greece. How I had purchased the freedom of twenty Gaul children. And how I denounced the Triumphs as a show of cruelty towards Kleopatra's children.

Octavian was furious during dinner. Everyone kept their voices to a whisper as he scribbled his memoirs furiously on a pad of papyrus. I sat quietly, thinking of Magister Verrius, whom I sent to post another actum on the Temple of Apollo. And when I glanced at Gallia, I knew she shared my thoughts.

I was just wondering when the news of this latest actum would reach the Palatine when a young boy burst into the room, moving as quickly as his feet could carry him. He was holding a scroll, and Livia demanded, "What is it?"

The slave held out the missive. "Some builders found this while working on the Temple of Apollo, Domina. It's addressed to Caesar, and has the stamp—"

Livia snatched the scroll before the boy could finish. "Another one!" she shrieked. "Another actum!" She passed the scroll to Octavian, and as he read, the color heightened in his cheeks. He rounded on the slave, who was shaking in his tiny sandals.

"So tell me," he began, his voice frighteningly calm. "were there witnesses to this deed?"

"No," the boy squeaked. "When the workers arrived this afternoon, it was already nailed to the temple door."

I thought of Verrius, impressed that he had moved so quickly.

Octavian lowered his reed pen. "Go," he commanded darkly, and the boy fled the room. He turned to Agrippa next. "This man has access to the Palatine, and is someone who must not have aroused suspicion when he approached the Temple of Apollo." He rose slowly to his feet. "So what shall we do about this, Agrippa?"

He passed the scroll to Agrippa, who glanced over it with his long, dark eyes. "He wants every slave in Rome to be freed," he said flatly.

"That's already been established!" Octavian shouted.

"But he must be the senator." Agrippa read aloud from the scroll, repeating the words I'd spoken earlier and had asked Verrius to transcribe:

 _If you are so worried that Roman culture will change, then stop living off the backs of your slaves, and start doing work for yourselves. Or perhaps you prefer to keep watching wagon trains of a thousand Gauls roll in. Perhaps you would rather condone the slave traders with their pretty Greeks. In which case, you will soon have a Rome in which no one is Roman. You can force them to speak Latin, to wear tunics and sandals, but blood will out._

"Only someone in the Senate would have heard your speech," Agrippa added.

I frowned. "Senators talk. It could have been anyone."

"So why don't we do something?" Livia demanded angrily.

I lifted one eyebrow. "And what might that be? Stand at every temple in Rome?"

She fixed me with a twisted stare. "If that's what needs to be done! Your _job_ is to—"

"Enough!" Octavian bellowed, and immediately Livia fell silent. "We have heard enough of this —" His voice broke off when a dark, broad-shouldered soldier appeared at the door. At once, a heavy red tint, the color of wine, painted Octavian's temples. "What is it?"

The soldier hesitated before crossing the _triclinium_. His pale green eyes were earnest. "There — there is news, Caesar. A stockpile of weapons has been discovered in the Forum Boarium. We believe they belong to a group of escaped slaves."

Agrippa was on his feet at once. "What kind of weapons?"

"Javelins, swords, daggers, spears, bows, arrow. Plus infantry helmets, armor, and shields. And most of them new."

Octavian looked between me and Agrippa, and it was clear from his eyes that he was both angry and fearful. "They are planning rebellion." He stood so quickly that his water spilled across the table. "I want every slave forbidden from purchasing weaponry anywhere in Rome!"

"But how will the merchants know—?"

"Proof of citizenship!" Octavian bellowed in the soldier's face.

He gave a hasty nod. "But if I may ask a question, Caesar. Where is the gold coming from for these weapons? Most of them were recently forged. If we can find the source—"

"A caravan on the way from Judea to the Temple of Saturn was attacked," Agrippa said, and I kept my face completely impassive at his words, "The gold must have been used to buy weaponry."

Octavian raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. The room descended into an uneasy silence. Even Livia, clearly recognizing the gravity of the situation, held her tongue. Finally, he dismissed the soldier and turned to me. "Take us to your villa," he said. "I want to see the new statues." He was referring the the sculptures we'd procured in Alexandria, along with a handful of others that had arrived from Greece. "This meal is finished," he announced.

I lowered my wine and rose from the couch, with all of the guests following suit. I led them out of the _triclinium_ and into the darkness of the warm night. We passed through the grove of ancient oaks that shaded my home, their leaves casting shifting shadows on the path beneath us. When we reached the front doors, I held them open for Octavian, Agrippa, and the assortment of family that followed. Selene and Alexander were among them. I saw them gazing around the atrium in awe, and heard Selene whisper, "Juba must be extremely wealthy."

"He earned it himself," Julia told her.

"Through his writing?" She sounded genuinely curious, much to my surprise.

"And antiques," Marcellus added. "My mother pays him to find authentic statues from Greece, and he probably has other clients."

As I led the group through the atrium, weaving through clusters of statues, Tiberius pointed and asked, "Is that a Grecian Nike?"

I smiled, impressed. "From the sculptor Phidias himself."

Octavian remained at the front of the group, pausing several times to admire the statues I had procured. Everything from gryphons and sea serpents, Gorgons and Sirens. There were numerous statues of ancient Egyptian kings and queens as well — Nefertiti, Hatshepsut, Ramesses II — their carved eyes gazing with steadying calm. All were lit by the glow of the oil lamps, their smooth surfaces glossed, as though swept with honeyed gold. Most of the statues were numbered for purchase. I'd included plaques bearing their names and where they were discovered, which lay at their base.

"Magnificent," Octavia murmured.

"Where does he get them all?" I heard Alexander ask Marcellus.

I turned to him. "I travel throughout Rome looking for sellers. And if I can't find the right statue, I will go to Greece."

I watched the guests rove around the room, staring and admiring the statues. Octavia moved to the side of the room with her brother, where they praised several pieces I'd acquired from a Cretian trader not long ago. The children — Selene included — hovered around an image of the goddess Aphrodite. I had grown fond of that one, as the dark curls and light eyes reminded me of a certain, _stubborn_ princess I'd set out to protect since her first days in Rome. I smiled as she stared into the goddess's face, awestruck of its beauty. I was about to ask her what she thought of it when I noticed Octavian moving to a statue of Jupiter. The god's symbol was an eagle, and so the proud bird sat perched on his marble shoulder, sharp eyes surveying the room. I stepped forward.

"We will find him." My promise was nothing but a lie.

But Octavian stared into the bird's eyes and said, "I know. And when we do, we will crucify him."

* * *

 _Note_

 **ludus.** Primary school.

 **Domine/Dominus.** Means 'master.' Used to address superiors. (Domina: mistress)


	11. Arrow

**Arrow**

* * *

I was to accompany Octavian to the Curia theater the following night, along with Agrippa and twenty other soldiers. The setting sun brushed the streets with rosy light as we departed the Palatine that evening. The children were borne up on litters, everyone from the twins to Marcellus and Julia. Octavian walked between myself and Agrippa, with Livia, Octavia, and a brooding Tiberius following closely from behind. The soldiers around us wore togas, but even beneath the casual white folds you could see the plates of their armor glitter, a reminder that these men were built to kill. Octavian had long been convinced that attending the theater was bad luck, hence such a large escort. The Curia was, after all, where Julius Caesar had been murdered by rival Senators, and he did not wish for history to repeat itself.

When we came to the theater, we seated ourselves at the very front, directly before the stage. I gave the area a quick scan on either side before seating myself. Agrippa, too, regarded the crowds warily as he assumed a chair next to Octavian. As the theater began to fill with patrons, and the hum of conversation rose into the air, a squat man with gold rings at his fingers and an air of seediness moved towards us. Pollio, one of the wealthiest traders in Rome — and the most repulsive man I'd ever had the misfortune to meet. I looked to his fourteen-year-old pregnant wife, who trailed behind him with downcast eyes, and felt nothing but pity for the poor girl. She was quiet as Pollio moved down the walkway with his bulging belly and pathetic little legs, shaking the hand of everyone he passed. When he came to me, however, he held his hands up.

"The Prince of Numidia," he said loudly. "Do I shake hands, or bow?"

Gods, how I hated this man. I stole a quick glance at Octavian. "I believe we only bow for royalty, Pollio," I said stiffly swallowing my disgust. "And as yet, I am not the king of any kingdom." He simply held out his fat hand, and I shook it without interest.

The group chatted as we waited for the performance to begin. Tiberius was telling Vipsania, Agrippa's daughter, a ridiculous joke about a one-armed man. Octavia's two daughters, Antonia and Tonia, sat completely silent. Marcellus, their half-brother, could not have been more of a contrast. He spoke loudly and flirtatiously with both Julia and Selene, and seemed completely at ease around Alexander. I could tell by the glow in Selene's eyes that her infatuation with him and not lessened even the slightest.

I was quite glad when the lamps dimmed, and I was finally able to turn my attention away from the princess. A tall, reedy actor took the stage. "We begin tonight as begin all nights," he said. "With a speech!" When the crowd answered him with boos, he smiled. "Perhaps you naysayers would like to give our orator a challenging topic, then?"

People started tossing out ideas, and finally the actor settled on one: the value of a cheating wife. As the large orator appeared, ready to discuss this topic and its _fascinating_ details, I kept my eyes on the dark heads of the laughing crowd. Octavian was safe, surrounded by myself, Agrippa, and a large retinue of soldiers. Even so, I continued to study our surroundings, hardly even watching or listening to the orator myself. My fingers brushed the hilt of my blade. Should anyone make an attempt on Octavian's life, they would not live to see another day. It was simple as that.

When the orator was cast off the stage, the actors of the main event made their entrance. They emerged from the blue curtains, their arms waving gracefully like water, their bodies fluid beneath the lantern light. Dancers dressed as nymphs waved ribbons of silk from their fingertips. As they captivated the audience with their movements, two men with the long-bearded masks of satyrs emerged. While the crowd laughed, a third masked man entered the stage with a bow and arrow. The first satyr began to recite his lines. Then the bowman pointed his arrow to the audience.

"Octavian!" I heard Selene scream.

Her shout alerted me, and without a moment's pause I was on top of Octavian, pinning him down the floor. An arrow cleanly whistled through the air, striking the stone bench where he had been sitting only seconds before. "In the name of the Red Eagle!" the masked bowman shouted through a heavy Gallic accent.

I felt nothing but shock and dread flood across my skin at the words. I had never intended for something like this to happen, though I suppose I should have known it would have, eventually. My persona as the Red Eagle was meant to stir rebellion, but not in this stupid, precarious way. Not through assassination of the one consul maintaining Rome's balance and stability. The Red Eagle was made to appeal to the other Senators, to make them see the error of slavehood and put an end to the servitude, the injustice, once and for all. But that could not happen if Octavian was dead. There wouldn't even be a chance.

Soldiers rushed the strange with their swords at the ready, but the actor was gone. The crowd was on their feet, screaming and shouting and hurrying from the theater. As our group was led to the exit by Octavian's guards, I heard Alexander ask Selene, "How did you know?"

"I saw him nock the arrow!" she gasped.

"But he was just an actor!"

It was sheer panic. People rushed and weaved together, crying out for loved ones. I drew my blade. Agrippa did the same. Octavia looked on the verge of tears, and Livia was white with shock. Octavian's face was impassive as he ran beside Agrippa, but I could tell that he was fearful. If he had been killed, the entirety of his family — of Rome — would have fallen apart. Marcellus would not be named heir. His daughter, Julia, would face an uncertain fate. And the Senate would push their questionable ideals forward, making the decisions that would surely lead to Rome's demise.

The soldiers encircled our group as we made our way down the street. When we finally reached the Palatine, Octavian led us into the library. Servants hurried the light the candelabra, while Agrippa bolted the door behind us. I took to pouring glasses of wine for everyone, hoping to calm them down. I offered the first one to Octavia. It hurt to see her weeping. "Do not cry," I murmured to her. "We will find whoever did this."

"This Red Eagle," Octavian thundered suddenly. "is now an assassin."

"I doubt that was the Red Eagle," Agrippa reasoned. "He spoke with a Gallic accent."

"So what stops this rebel from being a slave?" Livia demanded.

"Look at his acta," I said. Most of the acta was neatly penned by Verrius. "Are those the writings of a slave?"

"Then what are you saying?" she hissed. "That this had nothing to do with that rebel?"

The room went very quiet. Then Agrippa said, "Yes. This was a slave hoping to share in the Red Eagle's glory."

Octavian turned to him with cold gray eyes. "There is no glory in being a traitor," he said sharply.

"Of course not. But to the slaves —"

But Octavian cut him off. "Tell me, what would happen if I had been killed?" When Agrippa chose not to answer, he looked to me. "Juba," he said darkly. "Why don't you tell us? You're well versed in history. What would happen to Rome?"

I knew precisely what would happen, and the reality of it made me nervous. "The thirty tribes would go back to fighting. They would not accept Marcellus as heir, since he is too young, and the Senate would not accept Agrippa, since he is a descendant of freedmen."

Octavian nodded. "There would be chaos. Instead of going forward, Rome would go backward. It may not have been the Red Eagle tonight, but the man is inspiring rebellion. And there are slaves and freedmen who are covering for him! I man doesn't post a hundred acta without being seen!" He was yelling now, the rage showing through the iciness of his pale gray eyes. "So perhaps we should see what our _poor_ freedmen would rather have. Freedom, or food."

Octavia gasped at her brother's words. I closed my eyes, longing to protest, but had no choice but to hold my tongue. Caesar had spoken.

"We will stop the grain dole for ten days," he continued. "Tell them I must us the _denarii_ to hire personal guards."

"But hundreds will die!" Octavia cried out, stepping forward and into the lamp light. She was right. I looked to her, at the woman so unlike her brother, who brought the poor food and clothes everyday, and paid young mothers to feed unwanted orphans abandoned at the Columna Lactaria. The expression on her face was one of utter devastation. But her brother, it seemed, had made up his mind.

"No one has ever died of a little hunger," he said, his voice ringing with curt finality. "Men can go weeks without food."

"No the elderly! Not the sick children!"

"Then perhaps they should have thought of that before they helped a traitor," Livia snapped at her. "This will turn the people against him," she added, her eyes shining with excitement. "and remind these freedmen why they will always need Caesar."

Agrippa and I exchanged a glance. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

But Octavian was satisfied. "When they find the bowman, crucify him." He rose to leave, but when he reached the door, he paused to look back at Selene. "You surprise me," he said, and her green eyes widened. She had saved him from certain death, and in that moment I knew that she had proved her worth to him a hundred times over.


	12. Visit

**Visit**

* * *

I drafted an actum immediately when I returned to my villa that night. I could not let the slaves of Rome think that assassinating a key public figure was the answer to their freedom. I denounced the bowman's attack, warning that bloodshed would only result in further bloodshed. I urged the plebeians to turn to other methods of rebellion. _Anything_ else but attempted murder. This was critical, because should Octavian be killed, I would be unable to continue with my efforts as the Red Eagle. Staying with Octavian and his family gave me the intelligence I needed — everything from military conquests to swift changes in policies, slave caravan routes to Senator plans. Working as a spy and aide for Octavian also guaranteed a hefty pay— the majority of which was put towards freeing slaves and gladiators, bribing officials, and helping support Alexander and Selene.

In the rest of the actum I reminded the people of Spartacus, who led a slave revolt that only resulted in war. _No rebellion can hope to achieve what the votes of conscience by Senators can,_ I wrote, taking great care to make sure the penmanship was distinct from my own. Near the bottom I added a paragraph criticizing Octavian restricting the grain dole. _It is punishment of the innocent. Riots will wrench the Subura apart, and the destruction shall be on Caesar's shoulders_. After that, I mentioned a group of female slaves I was helping across the Mare Superum to their homelands. I had already bribed a few freedman to assist them in their journey, and I listed their names at the bottom of the scroll. _They walk without chains, never to be called Roman again_.

I was rolling up the finished actum when there was a light knock on the door. I looked to my servant, Sergius, who went to answer.

"Yes?" I heard him say.

I was surprised when Selene's voice answered him. "I have come with a gift."

" _Dominus_ does not wish to see anyone right now," Sergius told her.

"But I come from Octavia." I saw the top of her head as she tried to step around him, but Sergius moved quickly, blocking her path. I seized this moment to stow the actum away.

"No one enters this house tonight," Sergius said firmly.

"I am coming from Octavia with a bust of Juba's father!" Selene exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"

Gods, the girl was persistent. When it was clear she had no intention of leaving, I sighed and walked to the door. Selene's eyes narrowed when I came into view, strolling from my library and into the airy coolness of the atrium. She was wearing a long _stola_ of green that complemented the color of her eyes. Light glittered at her pearls and the diadem nestled in her dark curls. She was pretty, of course, but her unwarranted presence this late at night cut away any sort of admiration. She shouldn't be here. Not now, when Red Eagle scrolls were piled up in my library, and I was still in the midst of copying even more acta. Sergius looked to me in frustration. "She will not listen, _Domine_."

"I'm not surprised, Sergius," I said calmly. "She rarely listens to anyone."

Sergius pursed his lips, and Selene assumed the opportunity to step around him. She raised her chin purposefully at me, and her bright green eyes caught the light. "I have come with a gift," she said in a crisp, formal voice. I looked down to see the bust of my father, Juba I, in her arms. It had belonged to Octavia for a number of years, and I had to admit I was shocked that she had given it to me. But then again, I had saved her brother's life. I supposed she was grateful.

"So I see," I said idly, taking the bust and passing it to Sergius. "And who am I to thank for this?" I asked, playing along with her formality.

"Octavia," Selene answered. "And she did not give it lightly." When I said nothing else, she studied me with a frown. "Aren't you even going to look at it?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I know what it is. A marble of Juba I, King of Numidia."

"Aren't you grateful to have a portrait of your father?"

A wry smile crossed my lips. "Exceptionally grateful. _Please_ relay all of the thanks you so clearly feel on my behalf." I nodded at Sergius to close the door, but Selene did not move. She was staring beyond the atrium and into my library, where the tables were scattered with an assortment of maps and scrolls. When I wasn't writing acta, I was creating world maps. Most of them were used to determine certain routes for freed slaves to take, but no one but myself, Sergius, Verrius, and Gallia knew that. And should anyone come announced to the door, wondering where I might be or what I might be doing, the maps provided a perfect cover.

But now they'd caught Selene's curiosity. I heard the suspicion in her voice as she whispered, "What are those?" She stepped inside the room, and I did not make any attempt to block her. "Perhaps you aren't thankful because you have something to hide."

Sergius looked outraged. "Nonsense!" he said angrily.

I simply raised my eyebrows in skepticism. "Wait. Let's hear what she thinks I am hiding."

But Selene paled, her confidence slipping away as she looked between myself and Sergius. "Nothing," she said quickly, peering up into my dark eyes. She turned to leave, but I flung out my arm to block her path.

"You looked into my library and announced I was hiding something," I said curtly, glaring at her. "Sergius, why don't you show the princess inside?"

Sergius sighed, clearly irritable, and I gave him an apologetic glance. Regardless, he took Selene's arm and guided her into the atrium. She stared at the maps on the tables, then at several rolled scrolls that Verrius had penned — copies of acta we had yet to post. But they were not labeled, so there no means of Selene recognizing them as Red Eagle propaganda. " _Dominus_ is writing a history of the world," Sergius snapped. "Are you happy now?"

I stood behind Selene, staring at the back of her dark curls. "There it is," I said sarcastically. "All of my secrets laid out before you." I narrowed my eyes, wondering what she suspected. Wondering what, exactly, she thought of me. "What's the matter Selene? Were you expecting something else?"

"Not at all," she said stiffly, though I knew she was lying. She looked down at the nearest map — one of the Egyptian coast — and said smugly, "I'm simply wondering why you've added a temple next to the theater of Alexandria when there isn't any."

I smiled. "Perhaps there wasn't one before, but there's going to be one now."

"Next to the theater?" she cried in shock.

"That is Caesar's wish." I straightened up and said thinly, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have _secrets_ to attend to." Sergius escorted Selene to the door, and when she was gone, we both turned to look at each other in disbelief.

"What in the name of the gods is _wrong_ with that girl?" Sergius demanded.

"That's a good question, Sergius, I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

"She is adamant," he remarked with a shake of his head. "And reckless. _And_ foolish."

I sighed and dropped into one of the chairs before Egypt's map. "Luckily she didn't even think about asking about the scrolls. I'll have to send them away to Verrius, before anyone else comes by."

"I do not understand why you are helping that girl," Sergius growled. "She doesn't listen or respect you, _Domine._ I've never seen a more impolite child."

"She doesn't trust me," I said simply, running one agitated hand through my dark hair. "I have been a bit cruel to her, but that's only because it is what Octavian expects from me. I might try and earn some of the trust back, though," I added, after a thought.

"Well, I wish you luck," Sergius snorted. "She certainly is something else," he added scathingly.

My voice was very quiet. "That she is."

I crossed the room and stood before the bust of my father. It was beautiful, there was no denying it. The sculptor had taken great care into preserving his features — everything from his heavy eyebrows to the unruly beard that hid his squared jawline. Even the scar that marred his left temple was visible. It was lovely, and as a collector of fine statues and effigies, I had great respect for its craftsmanship. Regardless, it was still just a pale imitation carved from stone. A bittersweet reminder of the strong, noble, and commanding father I had lost in the game of war. Never again would I ride horses at his side, or inhale his scent of cinnamon and sandalwood, or practice dueling with nothing but daggers and curved scimitars. He was lost to the sands of time, and all that remained of him was this statue. I stared into its marbled eyes until my shoulders sloped, and I heaved a long sigh. I was a prince. I was a revolutionary. And yet, as a Numidian lost in the great, marbled expanse of Rome, I found that I had never felt so terribly alone.


	13. Escort

**Escort**

* * *

A day after Octavian's attempted assassination, I was ordered to become the children's personal escort. I wasn't exactly thrilled about this, as I had more important matters to attend to, but it _did_ give me an excuse to be near Selene. I wanted to be on friendlier terms with the girl. I'd been cruel to her — though certainly not on purpose. It had merely been a facade to convince Octavian I did not harbor any sort of softness for the children of his enemy. But, she had saved his life. She had proven that she was of value to Octavian. The tides had shifted, and I was certain that he wanted to keep her in his best interests.

When I appeared at Octavia's villa one afternoon, ready to escort the children to the Circus Maximus, they all looked to me in surprise. "Are you coming with us?" Julia asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Those are Caesar's orders," I said idly.

"But we already have guards," she protested. "Why do we need more?"

My eyes flicked to the guards with their heavy helms and shields, then back to her. "Perhaps you would rather stay at home," I drawled. "There's _nowhere_ as safe as your own chamber." She narrowed her eyes at my facetious tone, but said nothing. Yet the irritable look she exchanged with Selene told me she wasn't the only one disgruntled by my company.

I couldn't help but smirk at her. "You ought not to look so sour, Selene. It's very unbecoming of a _princess."_

She scowled at me. "I'll try and keep my emotions to myself then," she snapped.

"That would be wise," I said, and the princess stalked away from me in disgust, her curls bouncing behind her.

"Stop antagonizing her," Gallia muttered to me under her breath, so quiet that only I could hear.

"What? I'm trying to break the ice, so to speak."

"You're breaking more than that, Juba," she said, shaking her head as she started after the children.

It was a dry, airless day. The foliage around the city seemed greener than usual, and the sun fell hotly on the sweeps of marble and cobblestone. Merchants called out their wares of exotic fruits and flatbread, wheels creaked as oxen heaved carts through the wide streets, steam hissed from grills as vendors sold an assortment of sizzling meat. I walked alongside Gallia as we escorted the children to the Circus, my toga grazing the dust at my feet. While everyone was distracted by one of Marcellus's stories, I leaned in quietly and asked in Gaulish, "Did Verrius return?"

"Yes, not long ago," Gallia whispered back. "He's posted the actum at the Circus."

I nodded, and the two of us said nothing more. Sure enough, when we arrived at the Circus, the actum I had written the previous night was hanging from the doors. Verrius had risen shortly before dawn to post it, before slipping away into the early-morning darkness. Now a crowd had gathered around the scroll, and their whispers filled the dusty afternoon air. I made a great show of pushing my way to the front and demanding, "Another actum? Who did this?" When no one answered me, I snagged the arm of the man nearest to me. "When was this placed on the door?"

He shook his head, looking uncertain. I saw my cold snarl and dark glare reflected in the vastness of his wide, horrified eyes. "I don't know," he gasped. "I saw it here this morning after we opened."

"And no one took it down? Do you understand the penalty for supporting a rebel?"

"It — it isn't support," the man stammered. " _I_ certainly don't support it."

"Then why is it up here?" I bellowed, feigning rage.

"I don't know. I just place the bets. I don't patrol the gates."

I tore down the scroll, even though this was simply one of many in the city. Verrius, I knew, had gone to great lengths to spread my words across Rome. He had likely bribed other shopkeepers and strangers to post copies of the actum as well.

Marcellus moved forward, torn between curiosity and nervousness. "May I see it?"

I handed it to him, allowing the children a quick read. But then I crumpled it and passed it to Gallia, who stowed it away in her purse. "That's enough," I said. "You came here to watch the races. So let's watch them."

We entered the stadium and climbed to the seats reserved for Caesar's family. The children placed their bets — Alexander, I noted with interest, had an uncanny knowledge about horse breeds, and bet on the team who had mostly recently purchased Arabian stallions. Marcellus followed suit, and even Julia decided to gamble, tossing in her gold with an air of confidence. As the trumpets filled the air, and the charioteers thundered onto the dirt tracks, the crowd went into an uproar. Horses galloped to the starting line, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust. Julia and Alexander were on their feet, yelling themselves hoarse with Marcellus whooping between them. But Selene, strangely enough, was quiet. Uninterested in the race, she brought out her heavy calfskin sketchbook and began to draw. I was curious, for I'd heard the architect Vitruvius had recently taken her as an apprentice. _Thank the gods,_ I thought with relief, watching as her reed pen moved wildly across the papyrus pages. Octavian valued those who were useful to him, and this was a start. She'd already saved his life, after all. I knew it wouldn't be long before she would earn his respect. It wouldn't be enough to return her to Egypt, of course, but it would guarantee her livelihood. And her future as my wife…

"Sketching a new Rome?" I asked coolly, while everyone else's attention was on the race.

Selene did not even glance at me as she said, "It's a commission."

"Really? So you are being paid."

"No," she said shortly. And when she finally brought her green eyes to mine, I could tell she did not wish to speak with me. "I am doing it to be helpful."

I smiled. "Such a _charitable_ nature, and not even twelve. Soon you'll be passing out bread with Octavia."

"I noticed you thanking her this morning." Selene kept her voice sharp. "So you _did_ appreciate the gift."

"Of course," I said, frowning. "It's the only portrait I have of my father."

She said nothing at this, and returned to her drawing at once. She sketched for the entire race, but whenever I'd lean over and try to see, she'd move quickly, turning herself and her book away.

* * *

As I had predicted, there were riots in the Subura over the dole. The people were starving, and so they were desperate. They broke into shops and ransacked their shelves for food. They set fires to taverns and heaved stones through glass windows. Children cried for food and the elderly fell to their knees in their streets, too weak and too hungry to walk. As the Subura ripped itself apart, Octavian's family sat comfortably up on the Palatine, feasting on oysters and thrushes. I was disgusted, and I would have taken my meals in solitude had I not been Octavian's aide. Instead I sat quietly and said nothing unless spoken to, picking at a small piece of bread and feeling ill at ease. Tiberius commented on my surliness, teasing that I was likely having women troubles. But I did not care. Starving the plebeians was not right. It would not solve Octavian's problems or bolster support for him in anyway. It was just cruelty, and I was furious that Caesar had chosen to punish the innocent this way.

Eight nights passed, with the family continuing to dine contentedly, and the Subura beginning a steady crumble into chaos. Then one evening, a soldier interrupted us.

"We caught the bowman from the attack," he announced. "A plebeian handed him over."

"Reinstate the dole tomorrow," Octavian said at once. "Remind the people that I am paying for their grain with my own _denarii_ , and tell them I have sold my statutes to buy them food."

The soldier smiled. "Certainly, Caesar."

"And the criminal?"

"One of your slaves. A kitchen boy, I believe."

Octavian stiffened. "Kitchen _boy_ , or a man?"

"Sixteen," the soldier said.

"And you are sure that it's him?"

"He escaped from the Palatine three weeks ago, and the plebs seem very certain. Even if it wasn't, he's still a runaway."

Agrippa stood. "Well is it him, or isn't it?" he demanded.

"It is," the soldier said confidently.

"Whip him through the streets," Octavian said immediately, ignoring his sister's gasp of horror. "And tomorrow, crucify him next to the Forum."

The following morning, I went to escort the students home from the Campus Martius. I was surprised when Selene approached me, looking somewhat anxious. She asked to see the bowman, as she wanted to be certain they'd caught the actual culprit. I agreed, but only because I wanted to make certain myself. Julia, however, was complaining again. "To see a dead man? What's the purpose?"

Selene voiced my own speculations. "I want to know if it's really him."

"And if it isn't?" Julia huffed.

"She just want to know," Marcellus said defensively. "I'd like to know as well."

"There will be no interfering with justice," I reminded them firmly. Though I was speaking to everyone, my eyes lingered on Selene, and she fixed me with defiant leaf-green eyes.

"We understand," Marcellus said impatiently. "We just want to go and see."

Hundreds of Roman soldiers stood before the Senate, shields gleaming in the sun, eyes roaming the Forum for potential rebels. The plumage of their red helms swayed in the light breeze. And even though their skin was drenched with sweat, and the heat fell unyieldingly upon their armor, they did not show the slightest bit of discomfort. Their gazes were set, their lips pressed into hard lines.

"All of this, for an execution?" Alexander asked, gazing around at the soldiers.

"The rebel's supporters might try and save him," Marcellus explained. "Or at least try and give him an easy death."

Now Julia regarded the scene with eagerness. "Do you think that will happen?"

Her interest was disgustingly superficial, as if we were witnessing the joys of a play, not the fate of someone's life. "I wouldn't bet on it," I said curtly. I led the children to the steps of the Senate. We could see the boy now, sprawled out before a large wooden cross. His back was a bloodied mess, flesh stripped clean from bone, blood pooling into the dust. There was nothing but terror is his eyes, and I felt awful as I looked at him shiver from the pain. He was the same build and height as the bowman who had attacked Octavian at the theater. Even his skin tone was similar. I glanced to Selene, and I knew by the miserable look on her face that she recognized him, too. She tore her eyes away and looked to Julia, who was eating an _ofella_.

"How can you bear to watch this and eat?" she demanded, outraged.

"It's _just_ an execution," Julia said, rolling her shoulders back. "Most are done at the Esquiline Gate. This is the only one I've seen in the Forum."

"A rare treat," I muttered in disgust.

"I wonder why more aren't done near the Senate," she said, and the longing in her voice made my blood boil.

"Possibly because the Forum is a place of business, not torture," I snapped.

She tossed a piece of _ofella_ into her mouth. "You're probably right," she said simply.

At this point, I was raging. Between Octavian's idiot daughter and the shrieks of the boy as his palms were nailed to the cross, I was growing angrier by moment. The boy had supported my cause, but his actions had been too extreme. Too reckless. Now he was paying the price, and there was simply nothing I could do about it. I was not the Red Eagle in this moment. I was Juba, escorting Octavian's family through the streets of Rome. So I had to stand and say nothing, and do _nothing_ , even as a violent fire erupted inside me, charring my insides with anger and guilt. I glanced down at Selene, who had buried her face in her brother's toga. The boy's screams rang around the marble canyons of the Forum, shrill and horrifying.

"What's the matter?" I demanded, more coldly than I intended. "I thought you wanted to see this."

"I wanted to see if he was the bowman!" she cried, looking on the verge of tears.

"And?"

She simply nodded, at a loss for words. I was glad when Julia finally said, "We should go. I don't want to see this anymore."

We left, but the boy's screams continued to ring in my ears, and all I could think about was how his blood now stained my hands.

* * *

 _Note:_

Thanks for reading!

I have three more chapters finished and will upload soon!

Also just want to note that I don't revise/proofread this story, so if there are any spelling or grammatical errors I apologize.

I designed this story to parallel the events that happened in the book, and I think I'm about 75% finished.


	14. Guilty

**Guilty**

* * *

As the days wore on, sleep became nonexistent for me. Winding, broken dreams reeled through the corridors of my mind, dragging me in and out of consciousness. For many nights, all I could think about was the boy's screams, thundering through my head like the crackle of a splintering headache. I thought of his blood dripping to the ground as iron stakes plunged into his palms. How his face had twisted with agony as the cross was hoisted high in the air, showing his bruised, skeletal body for everyone to see. He would die there, on that cross, withering away beneath the harsh sun. The very thought was like a poison I simply couldn't be rid of, seeping into my skin every hour of the day until I wondered if I might go mad. I did not write anymore acta, as I wanted to distance myself from the poor boy. His death was regrettable, but his actions were not something that could be affiliated with the Red Eagle. So the acta was paused, and I was just Juba, procuring valuable statues and standing loyally on Octavian's right-hand side.

I continued to escort the children to the ludus, but I walked as though I was numb. My attitude grew incredibly cold and standoffish. I spent most of my free time brooding, keeping away from the people who tried to bother me. I frequented the stables of the Palatine, tending to my Arabian steed by brushing his elegant mane and bringing him little treats. But I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Gallia. She noted my exhaustion with worry, and sometimes she or Verrius stopped by my villa to bring wine or pomegranates, a favorite of mine. Shadows appeared beneath my eyes, and I carried a somewhat haggard look. When Octavian commented on my less-than-presentable appearance, my response was swift. "Forgive me, Caesar. I am working tirelessly to find the Red Eagle and put a stop to his tyrannous followers," I had said, and he'd nodded, both impressed and thoroughly satisfied.

One gray, milky morning, when the streets were buffeted by walls of fog, I was escorting the children to the Forum when we were met with a terrible scene. A vast number of slaves stood before a podium. Many of them could not have been older than eight or nine. My eyes narrowed as I looked from the lawyers, to the judices, and then back to the hollow-eyed slaves.

"I can't see," Julia complained, as we moved forward through the crowd. "What's going on?"

"Two hundred slaves are on trial for the murder of their master, Gaius Fabius," I explained, remembering what Agrippa had said to me earlier that morning.

Julia gasped, then turned to Selene. "Fabius? Don't you remember him, Selene? He was the man you saw beating those two boys at the temple!"

Selene looked incredulous. "And _all_ two hundred slaves helped murder him?"

"When one slave murders his master, all must be punished," I explained quietly.

Julia stood on her tiptoes, suddenly bright with interest. "Do you think we can get a better view?"

"Certainly," I said stiffly. I led the children behind the podium, where rows of slaves were chained by the neck, grime and sweat cluttering their backs, eyes glazed to gray emptiness. Anger stabbed at me as I looked at them — the innocent, those who likely never played a role in the killing of their master. And yet here they were, shivering beneath the cold fog with the dark eyes of injustice watching them.

As the lawyers addressed both the judices and the gathered crowd, Selene turned to me in horror. "Will they really be put to death?"

"Of course," I said, my voice rigid, struggling to remain impassive. "If they are found guilty."

"How can you be so callous?" she snapped at me, and I tried not to feel hurt. Of course I wasn't callous. I wanted to see the slaves go free, but this was the harsh reality of what they had to face.

Tiberius came to my defense. "Because it's not his problem," he said, his haughty gray eyes regarding Selene. "What is he supposed to do about it?"

He was right. But I wished more than anything that he was wrong, and that there was something I _could_ do. But not here, certainly not now. I drew my cloak around my chin and watched as the lawyer spoke in defense of the slaves.

"We cannot know which among these dregs stood by while Gaius Fabius was strangled in his chamber, then knifed more than dozen times. We must set an example. Nearly thirty-five years ago, a similar trial ended in the death of four hundred slaves. That jury understood that a message must be sent. One that discouraged any slave from killing his master for fear that _everyone_ will be punished. We must stop this now!" His voice rose to a vehement shout. "Or who will be next? You?" His finger drifted to an old man on the bench, donned in enough gold jewelry to buy the freedom of a dozen slaves. "You?" He looked to a second young man in a toga of a judex. "Forget what you heard before this. Certainly, a few slave children will die. But are their lives more important than yours? More important than those of your wives and children?"

He ended on that note, stepping down from the podium and briskly moving towards the judices. Julia looked fascinated. "What happens now?"

"That's it," Tiberius told her.

"What? No more arguing?" Marcellus demanded, sounding disappointed.

I ushered the children forward, leaving the crowd behind. "No more until tomorrow."

"But how many days will it go on?" Julia asked eagerly.

"As many as it takes," I said crisply.

"But that could be a month! Even two months."

Tiberius snorted. "It can't be two months. Courts shut down in November and December."

"So who decides when it's over?" Selene asked, glancing over her shoulder to look worryingly back at the chained slaves.

"The judices," Gallia informed her. She had been silent, and I could see how much it wounded her to see so many innocent people have their fate left to the court. "Those poor little children," she whispered, wrenching her cloak with worry.

We returned the following day to watch the trial unfold. Julia was adamant about attending, and I had to admit that I wanted to see what would happen. Gallia was quiet; I squeezed her hand for comfort, and she shot me a grimace. The crowd that had gathered were muttering under their breaths, outraged and angry at the trial. At least a thousand people were here, and every last one of them were glaring at the place where the judices sat.

"Look at how angry the people are!" Selene said with excitement. "The judices have to set them free!"

"They don't _have_ to do anything." I spoke sharply, to remind her of reality, not of hopes and optimism. "The judices will make their decisions based on the principles of justice as they see them, not on the wishes of an angry mob." Even at my own words, I gritted my teeth.

"Then you agree with this?" Selene exclaimed angrily.

My eyes flickered towards the chain of slaves, who stood bound and humiliated in their heavy iron shackles. Their faces were worn, their skin peeled and crisped by sun. Some of them bore marks of a whip. Some cried quietly into their hands. Others just sat hunched, with soulless eyes that were nothing but empty tunnels, where any sign of hope was extinguished like water to flame. A little brown-haired girl, clinging to the skeletal arm of a gaunt woman whom I assumed was her mother, caught my eye and smiled. She was just a tiny little girl, and though her hair was matted and her face was streaked with grime, she still had a beautiful smile and a pair of startling gray eyes. I couldn't bear to look at her. I turned back to Selene and spoke evenly, struggling to keep the emotion from my voice.

"I agree with justice," I murmured, while she scrutinized me.

They brought forth the murderer, the slave who had slain Gaius Fabius and placed so much misfortune upon himself and others. The lawyer for Fabius shouted at the crowd, his voice so fierce that saliva spluttered into the air. "This is the slave responsible for the murder, and he doesn't even deny it! Which of you thinks that a boy of fourteen could have done it on his own? Strangled his master, then dumped his master's body into the atrium pool?" He slammed his fist on the podium. "No one believes that a murder could take place without anyone hearing. Without anyone suspecting! Without anyone seeing this _filius nullius_ drag his master's body away from the chamber!"

As the crowd began to hum with speculation, the lawyer continued, "There are accomplices! And we must teach them Roman justice!"

The lawyer for the slaves stood next, appealing to the judices for pity. For mercy. "Look at these faces," he implored, and he turned to the small girl who had smiled at me. "She can't be more than six years old. What has she done to deserve death? She hasn't even lived life!"

I looked to Gallia and saw silent tears pouring down her face.

"Have pity," the lawyer demanded. "Place blame on the shoulders it should rest on. Not upon the innocent!"

A heavy silence descended upon the crowd, and as his words echoed in the still air, I felt that I could almost hear my heart pounding. He was right. The lawyer was absolutely right. These people were human _beings_ , not slaves. They were no different from myself or from any common Roman. They were entitled to life and to freedom. They did not need to die for the sake of setting an example. For the sake of the judice's pockets, as they were bribed with gold. Rome itself was crumbling, as everything I'd known about the city became counterfeit. Just a show. Just an empty basin to fill with lies and greed, with no semblance of humanity lift to cling to.

As the judices began to mutter to one another, Marcellus looked anxiously to me. "Do you think a decision will be made tomorrow?"

"It appears that way," I said quietly, and as we walked away, all I could think of was that little girl's innocent smile.

* * *

The slaves were found guilty.

I stood beside Octavian and the children as the judices rose to their feet. "Guilty," they said, one after another. The crowd began to stir with anger and disbelief, and as they swelled threateningly towards the Senate, I looked to Octavian, concerned for his safety.

"Perhaps we should leave," I said, and we were cleared a path by Praetorian guards to cross through the Forum.

Chants of the Red Eagle clouded the air amidst the chaos as slaves, freedmen, and plebeians alike denounced the final verdict. And within seconds, a riot broke out. Windows were smashed to glittering dust, statues were shattered, vendor stalls crumpled into only sticks. Soldiers drew their shields and swords, advancing in on the restless crowd and cutting down anyone within sight. Shouts splintered the air as the angry mob stormed forward — such was their fury at the two hundred innocents sentenced to death. I was furious too, and I vowed to avenge each and every one of them. The judices had not shown any mercy. And as the Red Eagle, I would not show a single scrap of mercy, either.

That night I stalked around my home in a fit of blind rage. It took every bit of self control I had to keep from slamming books and scrolls to the ground, or else destroying anything in my sight. I had Sergius bring me a pomegranate wine, which I downed quickly, hoping its sharp sweetness would soothe the beast that was inside me. Then I seated myself at my desk, rushed my hand through my hair to calm myself, and wrote an acta. As I scribbled furiously, the little girl's smile burned into my mind.

 _There are a thousand ways to get revenge. While I cannot advocate stealing from your masters, thievery comes in many different forms. Your lives have been stolen from you. Why, then, should you break your backs attempting to meet the demands of your masters? If it's a farm you work on, be slow with the wheat. If it's a lender you work for, make your records faulty. You cannot be punished for stealing time, or for simple accidents with the reed pen. And if you fear death at the hands of your enslavers, remember, death can come even when you are innocent. Do not forget the two hundred slaves who will die tomorrow with no blood on their hands. Women, children, infants still too young to walk._

Gallia and Verrius slipped quietly into my villa when I had finished. I rolled up the scroll and passed it to Verrius to scan, too upset to speak. Gallia, I noted, had tears in her eyes."They are to be put to death at dawn," she whispered. "Juba, please…"

"Don't, Gallia," Verrius said sharply. "I know what you are thinking, but we cannot risk Juba's life and safety. He cannot free those slaves anymore than you or I can. They will be heavily guarded. Any attempt to go _near_ them is suicide."

She buried her face in her hands. "All those children…they are so young…"

Something snapped inside me then. I felt like a tree branch splintering from a heavy weight. I stood sharply to my feet and grabbed my cloak. Sergius, who was standing near the atrium, stared at me in shock.

" _Domine_ , where are you going?" When I did not answer, he shouted fearfully this time. "Where are you _going?_ "

"Away," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. My cloak whipped behind me as I stepped out into the dark, crisp night, making my way to the bottom of the Palatine. I was being reckless, but I simply did not care. I was going to free every last one of those slaves, no matter how many lies I had to tell, no matter how much gold I had to use for bribes. When I reached the Forum, I walked straight to the prison nestled against the Tiber River. It loomed before me, a mass of grimy colonnades and cracked marble. And the stench was almost overwhelming. Rows upon rows of people were locked away into darkness, chained at their necks and ankles, stewing in their own filth before their execution. It was a hideous sight.

The guards regarded me warily, their weapons drawn. "Juba?" One of them called. "Prince of Numidia?"

"What an excellent observation," I snapped. "Now tell me. Where are the slaves of Gaius Fabius kept?"

"They're no longer here," one of the men grunted.

"What do you mean?" I demanded coldly. "They were ordered to remain here until _dawn_."

"Well, they're dead," one of the men grunted, while picking aimlessly at his fingernails. "We received the orders from Octavian not long ago. He said to hasten their execution should the Red Eagle or his supporters should come to their aid before sunrise."

I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to conceal my desperation. "They have been executed? Every last one of them? The children, too?"

"Certainly," the guard said, frowning at me. "And we're much better off, aren't we? Didn't need that sort of scum tainting the streets of Rome."

I thought of the gray-eyed girl and her beautiful smile, and the dark, terrifying rage within me was something I couldn't control. The blood thundered in my ears as I stared at this guard, so desperately longing to seize him by the throat and squash every last bit of life out of him. I wanted him to die. I wanted his breath to vanish, and his body to crumple and wither. So vicious was my anger and my grief. My hand brushed the hilt of my blade as I toyed with the possibility. But then I hesitated. I closed my eyes for a long moment in an effort to master myself. An eye for an eye would do nothing. It would not bring those slaves back. It would only bring more trouble. So I turned on my heel and stalked from the prison, biting back my anger and swearing to never allow such a disgusting display of barbarism to happen again.


	15. Snow

**Snow**

* * *

 _Rome | December 29 BC_

* * *

December came, bringing with it a curtain of heavy snow. A harsh wind blew through the streets of Rome, chilling the air as it carried scents of charcoal, of warmed wine. Pools and fountains froze over, and ice clusters bloomed along the roads and villas. The streets, once lively with vendors and merchants, had become dark, glittering, and deserted. I welcomed the cold, as it gave me an excuse to keep to myself for most days. I feigned sickness, and since Octavian did not want anyone near him who might be ill, I was able to plot quietly with Gallia and Verrius in my villa. Rather than sit and dine with people who chatted about nothing, we were able to talk about bringing change to Rome.

But most unfortunately, I could not pretend to be ill for long. On the seventeenth of December, I announced I was in decent health, and proceeded to accompany Octavian and his family to the villa of Pollio, where we would celebrate Saturnalia. The walk from the Palatine to the city was a cold one. A terrible chill gripped the air, and the iced streets were fringed by heaps of dirtied slush. I noticed Selene shuddering under her cloak, and knew that she and her brother, who had always known a temperate climate in Alexandria, were freezing more than the others. I wanted to tell her it was all right, and that you get used to the cold and the snow. But I was all too aware of Selene and her sharp tongue. If I were to say something like that, she would merely fold her arms across her chest and glare at me, thinking I was only mocking her. And so I kept my silence, drawing my heavy cloak closer to my chin and listening to the crumpling shift of snow underfoot.

Warm air and the scent of roasted meat greeted us when we finally arrived at Pollio's villa. Octavian, his cheeks reddened and his hair flecked with snow, sighed in relief. "Thank the gods," he breathed.

Pollio spread out his fat little arms. His round face was encircled by the scruff of a heavy, fur-trimmed cloak. "Welcome!"

I merely stared at him in indifference while Livia commanded, "Take us to the _triclinium_. My husband is in pain."

"Of course!" Pollio said, waddling forward with his cloak trailing behind him. "Of course!"

Light from the braziers flickered along the glossy walls as we made our way through the atrium. The _triclinium_ was filled with warmth and food, the columns twisted with the lush curls of garlands. Octavian, who despised the cold, seemed to finally relax. Even Selene and her brother seemed to settle.

Then Julia spoke. "Where is Horatia?" she asked.

I looked around, realizing for the first time that Pollio's young, pregnant wife was not among us.

Pollio hesitated. "I'm afraid she cannot be with us tonight."

"Why?" Julia demanded. "Is she sick?"

"…In a fashion."

There was a long Octavia gasped and drew her hand to her lips. "She's not having the baby!"

Pollio was nodding in embarrassment. "I'm afraid it is bad timing—"

"Then _why_ are we here?" Octavia cried, while I raised my eyebrows in utter disbelief as my loathing for Pollio increased tenfold.

"Because I promised to host Caesar on the first night of Saturnalia," Pollio said simply.

Julia looked mutinous. "I want to see her," she spat.

The fat man dipped his head. "I'm sorry, but she is in her chamber."

"And what does that mean?" Julia shouted. "That she should be shut up like some birthing cow while everyone else feasts?"

"Control yourself," Octavian commanded. "And take your couch."

But his daughter refused to be silenced. "I would rather see Horatia," she begged. "Please, Father. Please."

Octavian glanced at Pollio, his eyes flat and dark. "Will the child come tonight?"

"If I am lucky. Imagine having to pay for a feast for Saturnalia and a birthing feast as well."

"Then perhaps my daughter can visit her. It's a comfort for women in labor to have others in their chamber."

Though Pollio looked as though he wanted to object, he had no choice but to agree with Caesar. Julia went upstairs to comfort Horatia, with Selene trailing uncertainly along behind her. I watched her go, before Pollio clapped his hands together and led us into the triclinium for the feast. But like everyone else, I could not eat in peace. Moans of pain, sometimes broken by the splutter of agonized screams, cut through the quiet. Pollio tried to laugh it off, apologizing again and again for his poor wife's _untimely_ birth. But Octavia pressed her lips together and refused the plates of goose and oysters. I sat silently as well, ignoring the food at the table and hoping the expression on my face would convey enough disgust.

Halfway through the uncomfortable meal, Pollio was called upstairs to see his new child. "Let us hope it is a son!" he called merrily to us. "Anything else would be of no use to me." I narrowed my eyes, waiting, the anticipation rippling through my veins like the slow crawl of a fire. Before long, we could hear Pollio's raised voice cutting through shrill screams of horror. I exchanged a concerned look with Agrippa, and we sharply rose to our feet. Pollio appeared moments later, red in the face with anger gleaming in his eyes.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," he said, and Agrippa and I resumed our seats, though not after studying Pollio warily. Selene appeared moments later, and I saw from the expression on her face that something terrible at happened. She walked quietly to the table and took her seat. I gripped my wine glass, staring hard at the deep red liquid but still keeping my attention fixed on her.

"What happened?" Alexander asked.

Selene's green eyes were hollow. "It's a girl," she whispered softly.

"Was she deformed?" Marcellus asked.

"No. Pollio wanted a son, so he ordered that she be put out."

"As a foundling?" he cried in disbelief, while my hand twitched in surprise.

Octavia came to our table to ask about Horatia's well-being. When Selene told her what had happened, she stepped back in alarm. At once, she moved towards her brother and whispered into his ear. His gray eyes shifted to Selene before he rose from his couch.

"What is this?" Pollio cried. "The dessert has not even come!"

I wanted to slam him into the table by his fat neck, but instead I sulked, watching Octavian gather his cloak. "I hear that your wife has given birth," he said shortly, and the coldness in his eyes mirrored that of the bleak, snowy world outside. "It would be rude of me to stay, when you belong with her." He turned to Marcellus. "Go and find Julia."

As Marcellus disappeared up the steps, Pollio blurted, "But we cannot let Saturnalia be interrupted by _women's_ matters!"

"The children of Rome matter to everyone," Octavian snapped. "Even foolish men like you."

The guests stood and assembled in the atrium in preparation to leave. I drew my cloak around my chin and shook my head at how cruel a person could be. But it didn't matter; where this pathetic scrap of a man would show cruelty, I would show common kindness. As soon as we were to reach the Palatine, I would visit the Columna Lactaria — the sorry place where most foundlings were orphaned — and I would find that baby girl. I would not leave her to freeze and die in this weather. I would not let an innocent child see death once more.

"It's cold," Pollio had the audacity to say, as Octavian bundled himself up in his many cloaks and tunics. "Perhaps you would like to stay the night?"

But Octavian's face was hard as stone. "I'm sure your daughter would have liked to stay the night as well," he said venomously. "When you shiver, remember how cold it is in the dump."

* * *

When we returned to the Palatine, everyone went to Octavia's villa to sit in the library, Octavian and Agrippa included. I excused myself, informing Octavian that I was exhausted and wanted to retire early. But I did not return home. Instead I crossed through the cold drifts of snow, which crackled underfoot, until I came to Verrius's villa. I knocked once, and he appeared at the door. A slat of light poured out from his atrium, sparkling on the ice at my feet.

"Juba?" He sounded surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I need your help," I said at once, shaking flakes of snow from my hair. "Please, Verrius."

"Of course." He flung open the door and ushered me inside. I settled on the nearest couch closest to the brazier and rubbed my hands together, finally casting away the icy numbness that had claimed them.

"What is it?" Verrius asked, after he had brought us two glasses of pomegranate wine.

I spoke urgently. "Do you happen to know of anyone looking for children? Anyone you know who has shown interest in adopting? _Anyone?_ "

Verrius frowned. "What's all this about?"

"Pollio's wife has given birth to a girl, and from what I understand, he has had her abandoned."

"His own _child?"_ Verrius demanded angrily, staring at me in outrage.

"Yes!" I said anxiously. "Simply because he wanted a _son_." I spat the word viciously. "But not a healthy little girl, no, of _course_ not. I am certain she has been left at the Columna Lactaria. But it goes without saying that she will not survive the night. Not in this cold."

Verrius sighed heavily. "A newborn? Certainly not. She will freeze to death."

"Can you help?"

He hesitated, then said, "I know of someone who might take her in. He is a freedman, like myself. His wife has not yet been able to give birth, but they are still interested in raising a child, one way or another." He rose to his feet and went to gather his cloak. "Come. We will leave at once and bring him to the Columna Lactaria."

"Thank you, Verrius. Thank you."

Together we walked through the cold streets of Rome, cloaks whispering along the snow, breath billowing like mist into the air. Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones glazed with ice, and we passed no one — not a single soul — in the bitterness of the freezing night. Verrius led me to the door of a small villa edged by a frozen pool. Upon his quiet knock, a tall, raven-haired woman appeared. Her light eyes were the color of rain, and she wore an assortment of heavy furs and linen to shield the chill. There was something about her that intrigued me. Maybe it was her eyes, or her sharp beauty that was almost intimidating, like the cut of a blade. But it went without saying that she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and for a moment I could only gape at her. "Verrius?" Then she looked to me, and her expression turned from one of welcome to wariness. "And Prince Juba…can I help you?"

"Aquilina," Verrius said, inclining his head. "Is Ennius home?"

"Of course, he's reading at the brazier." But even as she spoke to him, her eyes did not leave my face. They were sharp and they were scrutinizing, and it wasn't after a long pause that she seemed to reluctantly say, "Please, come in."

But I shook my head. "Please, madam. We haven't much time. The life of an innocent child is at stake."

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"A newborn girl was abandoned at the Columna Lactaria this evening," I explained hurriedly. "She was taken from her mother after birth and now lies in the cold. She has nowhere else to go, and Verrius has explained to me that you and your husband wish to have a child of your own." I looked into her eyes, hoping that she could understand. "Please," I murmured.

To my surprise, she went straight into the villa and returned with a shorter, slight man whom I believe to be her husband. "Take us to her," she said firmly, her sharp gray eyes holding mine. The four of us walked in silence to the Columna Lactaria. As we neared, we could hear the sound of a wailing child on the steps. There were no other foundlings in sight — just the tiny bundle that I assumed was Horatia's daughter. Frost had already gathered on the poor child's colorless face. There were no milk nurses around, which did not surprise me. Why would they even consider leaving their homes to brave the snow and icy slush, simply for the sake of an unwanted, orphaned child?

"She's so little," Aquilina breathed in wonder, kneeling to pick up the tiny bundle. She cradled the child against her breast, her eyes soft.

Her husband, Ennius, leaned close to her. Then he glanced at me. "We have tried for years to have a child, with no success. But here is a healthy newborn girl, just what we have always dreamed of. Perhaps the gods smile on us."

"So you will take her in?" I asked.

Aquilina's eyes flickered to my face. "You cannot possibly think I will allow a newborn to be left out in the cold, do you?" she said with a smile.

"No, of course not," I said merrily, as the relief washed over me. I straightened my cloak, exchanged a grin with Verrius, and then promised, "I will provide your daughter with a small fund that should last her a few years. It is the least I can do for you saving her life." I thought of the young girl who had been put to death months earlier, along with the other two hundred slaves. I thought of her innocent smile. Her gray eyes. It had been a while since she'd appeared in my mind. Sometimes, she came in my nightmares, or late at night, when I wondered what would happen should my efforts as the Red Eagle fail. I'd lost that little girl, but I'd managed to save another life. And that was good enough for me.

* * *

Julia remained in a state of agitation over the next couple of days. As icy rain swirled through the Palatine, and the expanse of snow became that of slush, she went back and forth to Columna Lactaria to search for Horatia's little girl. Of course, there was no sign of the child, as she was comfortably living with her new parents in their warm home, never to freeze beneath the chilled December winds again. But Julia was adamant, and so I quietly accompanied her, Gallia, and Selene, and a number of others to the Columna, to aid in a search that was completely futile, but still important to Julia all the same.

While she scoured the courtyard with Selene, Marcellus finally spoke. "Be sensible, Julia. Someone has taken her."

"But who?" Julia shouted, her voice rebounding off the empty courtyard.

"It might have been a well-meaning citizen," Alexander said.

"But what if it was the owner of a _lupanar?"_ she fretted.

My voice was firm. "Well, there's no way of knowing which it is. No one's going to return her now." Julia turned to the column in desperation, as a rumble of thunder broke the silence. "The rain is about to come," I said quietly, and I walked towards the carriage. To my surprise, Julia chose to follow. Selene, Alexander, and Marcellus, too, clambered inside, shielding themselves from the downpour that now lashed the cobblestones in an chilly sheet.

"I should have taken Gaia from the midwife," Julia lamented.

"And what would you have done with her, _Domina?"_ Gallia asked.

"Found her a home!"

Marcellus raised his eyebrows. "With who? Where?"

Julia ignored him and turned to me, fixing me with a resolute stare. "What do you think happened to her?"

I told her the truth. "A freedman found her and took her home," I said firmly. I thought of Aquilina cradling the child, with Ennius looking on.

"But how do you know?" Julia begged.

"Because no patricians live near the markets or would ever want to be caught there at night."

"But what if it was a freedman with a _lupanar?"_

I shook my head. "Don't you think it's more than likely that men of that sort were indoors, celebrating the first night of Saturnalia? Not standing in an abandoned marketplace waiting for foundlings, when those can be had at any other day of the week."

Julia seemed to settle a little; my words had reassured her. I was not lying, but I was not being entirely honest, either. I wanted to tell her the truth, but there could be no mention in my involvement for saving the child's life. Not for this, not for the gold I'd deposited to help Selene and Alexander, not for the hundreds of slaves I'd seen set free. This was something the Red Eagle would do, and it was not something that others — especially the daughter of Caesar — could hear.

* * *

 _Note:_

So I remembered the scene from Cleopatra's Daughter, on page 252, shortly after what happened with Horatia and Pollio: _"When we reached Octavia's villa, Juba excused himself, but Agrippa and Octavian remained, settling with the rest of us in the warmth of the library."_ I could be wrong, but I'm almost 99% sure he had been the one to return to the Columna Lacteria to collect Horatia's child :)

Also I love Juba. When I first read the novel I saw him as Rami Malek (from Mr. Robot, Night at the Museum). But for some reason Adam Driver (Star Wars, Girls) keeps popping up in my head haha.

Anyway, terms:

 **lupanar.** brothel.


	16. Sentinel

**Sentinel**

* * *

 _February 12, 28 BC_

* * *

Agrippa was to become a married man. As chilling rains continued to wash the streets clean, and shades of bluish daylight bled into the slick roads like watercolor, Octavian arranged for Agrippa to wed Claudia, Octavia's eldest daughter. The Palatine was suddenly caught in the midst of all the excitement, and I couldn't walk more than two steps without hearing about the wedding. I was happy for Agrippa; he was a seasoned general and a loyal friend. He'd seen his fair share of battles and miseries, and I was glad that he was finding his own love and happiness at last. A wife would now greet him home from wars, and keep him company well into the night. Something, he said, he'd always longed for after the death of his first wife.

When Claudia first arrived at the Palatine, I was surprised by her shyness as well as her beauty. She was extremely pale, with a curtain of honey-colored hair and a curious face that seemed to reflect a timid facade. Agrippa seemed taken-aback at first. She was quiet and demure, perhaps not entirely what he envisioned in a wife. But she was very kind, and remarkably well-read. And after long walks with Claudia along the lotus pools, and small, private moments that I knew they shared in his chamber, it seemed Agrippa had come adore her.

But naturally, Octavian couldn't determine a date for their wedding without wasting everyone's time. And by wasting everyone's time, I mean, 'consulting the omens.' I almost groaned in dismay when he announced we'd assemble in Octavia's villa just to hear some priestesses prattle on about fortuitous dates. My mind rushed with a number of excuses — stomachache, fever, lethargy, perhaps. But I knew Octavian would be displeased by my absence, and so I was forced to endure his little gathering without complain. We all shuffled into the atrium, standing around a bronze brazier that provided the only warmth in the room. In the coldness of February, I'd taken to donning a heavy fur cloak like everyone else, but I could still feel the chill in my bones as the priestesses of Juno chanted around us. Silvery rain dripped into the icy _impluvium_ , the pool responsible for collecting water from the skies. Octavian looked miserable, bundled up in his coat made of snowy fox fur in the north, his nose swollen, fingers shivering as they clasped a wax tablet and stylus. Selene was standing near me, shuddering beneath her own cloak. I turned to her, a smirk playing on the corner of my mouth.

"You look cold, princess."

"I'm fine," she huffed, her breath rising in a billow of white mist.

I started to remove my furred cloak. "Here, take mine—"

This only seemed to irritate her even further. "No, thank you. I said I'm _fine."_

"Whatever you say," I said breezily, and she scowled. Goading her was beginning to become one of my favorite past times.

"Not February second," the priestess announced, and Octavian scribbled a note upon his tablet. There was a pause, and she said, "Not February tenth…the best day in February will be the twelfth."

Octavian glanced up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "The day before Lupercalia?"

The priestess's nervous response was lost as a blaze of lightning lit the darkened sky. Thunder crackled in its aftermath, shuddering the walls of the atrium. Octavian gave an urgent shout. "The augurs! Go the collegium and bring the augurs!"

My lip curled. _By the gods, no,_ I thought irritably. _Just let it be done and over with so I can leave._ But a second flash of lightning and its accompaniment of roaring thunder brought a fresh torrent of rain spilling into the atrium. The impluvium was suddenly alive with falling droplets, the water swelling at our feet. Octavia hurried us all to the library, where I helped her light the oil lamps. Her brother stood close to the brazier, warming his hands as he looked to me. "What does this portend?" he asked, as the rains continued to pour.

My eyes flickered to the priestesses, who huddled together with fright, then settled on his face. "We should wait for the augurs," I said calmly.

Tiberius rolled his eyes and leaned into me. "You don't really believe it means anything? It's the precursor of rain. That's it!"

Obviously. But the priestess could be in danger if Octavian should think she foretold an ill omen. So I leaned against the wall and kept my voice sharp. "The augurs are coming."

"But you don't believe them!" Tiberius protested under his breath. "Tell the truth. Even Cicero mocked the augurs."

I raised an eyebrow. "And Cicero ended his days with his head on the rostrum."

We waited in quiet for the augurs, no one daring to speak as Octavian paced wildly, his gray eyes cold as cracked ice. The only sounds were that of the crackling brazier flames, and the distant, melodic whisper of falling rain. When a slave girl with a dark braid and almond eyes finally appeared at the door, everyone rose from their seats. "They're here, Domine."

Octavian was on his feet at once. "Bring them in!" he commanded, and then he turned to Agrippa, who pinched the bridge of his nose and looked as if he were struggling to hide his irritation. "Nothing must go wrong with this marriage! It must be blessed by all of the gods."

"Not really," Tiberius muttered to me under his breath, and I couldn't help but silently agree with him.

The augurs shuffled inside, the trails of their wet cloaks slithering on the marble behind them. Their leader lowered his hood and stood facing Caesar, his chilled face made warm from the flickering brazier. "We are humbled to be of service," he said. "Is it the thunder that brings us here today?"

 _No, it's the deranged superstitions of an old man,_ I thought scathingly.

The priestess of Juno explained how lightning had struck the sky after her announcement of February twelfth. The first augur nodded in understanding as Octavian added, "As soon as she made the pronouncement, it came. There had been no thunder the entire morning. For days, there hasn't been any lightning."

"And where did the lightning come from?" the augur asked.

My lie was swift. I knew exactly what to say, and how to end all of this nonsense. "The east."

Octavian turned to me with a frown. "I didn't see that."

Neither did I. But I wasn't about to stand around all day. "Because you were writing," I explained carefully. "I was watching the skies."

As I had expected, the first augur lifted his arms. "Then it is a sign of blessing!"

A murmur of relief rippled across the room, but Octavian did not appear to be placated. "Even though the chosen day is the day before Lupercalia?" he challenged.

But the second augur gave a sagely nod. "The gods have spoken."

I almost wanted to laugh. How easy that had been. How impossibly stupid. Tiberius shot me a triumphant glance, for in his disdain for the augurs, he'd known I'd been bluffing this entire time. But I kept my face smoothly impassive, a playactor's mask that showed nothing as the rains flooded the world outside.

* * *

The wedding was held on February twelfth, and it was evident that no expense had been spared for the happy reunion. There were crystalline fountains that sparkled with lavender water, barrels of honeyed wine, platters of roasted ostrich and peacock. After Agrippa had raised Claudia's veil to reveal her shining face, and the crowd lapsed into gleeful shouts, we retired into the _triclinium_ to celebrate with a feast. I had never seen Agrippa so triumphant. A man of his stature was normally composed, reserved — and yet here he was, laughing and drinking wine with a limitless energy I'd not seen before. He simply could not take his eyes off his bride. His little daughter, Vipsania, too, basked in all of the excitement, tugging eagerly at Claudia's hand and playing with her plaited hair.

As I laughed and drank wine with Agrippa, recanting his most embarrassing of tales to Claudia — for good measure, of course — Gallia gave my elbow a slight nudge. "What, you want more wine already?" I laughed, but her face was serious.

"Livia is talking with Selene," she said bluntly, nodding towards the corner of the room.

I turned to have a look. Selene, though beautiful in a toga of watery blue, was standing awkwardly besides a towering iced spelt-cake. Livia smiled sweetly at her, her viperous eyes as black and soulless as the pit of her heart. Gods, how I hated the woman. I didn't speak to her on a regular basis, thankfully, but the verbal abuse she hurled at both Gallia and Octavia had sealed my hatred alone.

"I am certain there is nothing good that will come of their conversation, Juba," Gallia warned, with a worrying shake of her head.

"Oh, of course not. A _cunnus_ like her can't even string two meaningful words together."

Gallia had to press her lips together to keep from spraying out her wine.

"I suppose I ought to rescue Princess Selene," I sighed. "Before Livia decides to sell her to a whorehouse, or ship her off to Judea. Far, far away from her dear _Marcellus,_ I'm sure."

I excused myself from the table and casually sauntered towards Livia and Selene. I stood off to one side, pretending to be _very_ interested in the spelt-cake as I listened to their conversation. Livia ended up calling over an older senator by the name of Catullus, whose wrinkled veins formed an ancient wirework across his sallow skin, his rheumy eyes hazy as if swallowed in fog.

"Catullus, have you met Princess Selene?" Livia said merrily.

"A pleasure," Catullus said with a smile, while Selene simply nodded.

Livia was smiling in a sickening way. The vile woman. "Such a pretty girl, isn't she? Her mother had four children, and probably could have had more." The tone of her voice grew even brighter. "So tell me, is it true you are looking for a wife?"

Selene peered up at him with the look of someone who desperately wanted to flee the room. Her green eyes were wide and horrified, and every bit of color had drained from her face when the old senator gave a thoughtful nod. "Yes."

"Well, perhaps you would like to spend some time with Selene."

"Doing what?" Catullus frowned.

Livia grinned widely. "Oh, for now, just discussing a few things."

I took that as my cue. I stepped forward with my long fingers folded behind my back, raising my chin as I looked between Selene and Livia."And exactly what would he have to discuss with a child?" I demanded coolly, while relief washed over Selene's face. I don't think she had ever been so happy to see me.

"My gratitude for your concern," Catullus said to Livia, with a quick dip of his head. "but I believe I am wanted over there."

Livia watched the senator leave, then rounded on Selene with a vicious rage. "You will _never_ return to Egypt," she snarled under her breath.

I stepped between her and Selene, as if to shield the girl from her wrath. "And how do you know she wants to return?" I asked curtly.

She gave a derisive laugh that made the bile build at the back of my throat. "Because I know this one. She would have tried to run away if she didn't think my husband might return her to Alexandria."

I arched an eyebrow and opened my mouth to make some snarky comment or another, but Octavia appeared then, her robes of vivid indigo sweeping along the marbled tiles. Her eyes flickered to my carefully impassive face, then regarded Livia with undisguised hostility. "I hope you're not taking out your anger on Selene," she said sharply. "It's not _her_ fault my brother has disappeared with Terentilla."

"He will never leave me," Livia hissed, while Octavia raised her eyebrows. "Terentilla's nothing more than a theater-whore!"

Well, I certainly would rather die by my own sword than continue listening to this conversation. I left the room in a hurry, knowing that Selene was in good hands. Whatever dark scheme Caesar's wife was attempting to work up, Octavia would make certain nothing malicious would come of it. She loved and cared for the girl like she would any of her other children.

I sat alone in the courtyard for the rest of the night, thinking about Selene's future and whether or not I would still be part of it. Octavian had intended for me to marry her — but that was very, _very_ far off. She was not even of marriageable age yet. I cared for her. I watched over her. I thought her green eyes — which reminded me of the cool waters of the Nile — were unlike anything I had ever seen. And yet, I did not look at her in a romantic way. Not at all. Sometimes I felt a twinge of resentment whenever she smiled and flirted with Marcellus, but that was the extent of it. I felt more like her protector, which was certainly true, given all the mishaps she had landed herself into since arriving in Rome. Just a sentinel to guide and watch from the shadows. And she hated me anyway, so what did it matter?

Octavia found me sitting on the stone bench in the courtyard sometime later. She settled beside me and smiled. "So, now that Agrippa has found a wife, will you be tying the knot as well?"

I laughed. "There's the simple matter of finding a girl who'd actually _want_ to marry me."

She chuckled. "Perhaps you ought to look around a bit more often, Juba. You should see the way women look at you."

I raised my eyebrows. "Women look at me?" I snorted.

She shook her head. "I always forget how self-conscious you are about your looks. Always seeing yourself through a pair of murky eyes." I opened my mouth to protest, but Octavia nudged my shoulder good-naturedly before continuing, "If you must know, there are a great many women who find you immensely attractive. They think you are _exotic_. Tall, dark, and handsome. A spy and a warrior. Not to mention a prince. I'm asked about you all the time, you know. Every time I go to the Forum, there's always some mother who wants you to marry her daughter, or some widow who would love to take you as her husband. They _all_ want to know if you're available. Even the _lupae._ "

I laughed wryly. "Well, if there is one thing these ladies need to know about me, it's that I am a terrible romantic. My humor's as dry as a desert, and I am not exactly what you call charming. I mean, my idea of having _fun_ is studying maps and researching statues all day. What kind of woman would find joy in that?"

Octavia smiled. "You'd be surprised. You're quick and clever and witty. You just need a woman with an inquisitive temperament and a good sense of humor, is all."

"Yes, but those women seem far and few between, to be honest." I sipped my wine. Felt it sizzle at the back of my throat, calming any nerves that might have betrayed me.

"Perhaps you should keep looking. I just want to see you married and happy, Juba. I care for you like I would my own son."

"Married and happy? That's an interesting pairing of words."

"Come now, Juba. Aren't there _any_ women you are interested in? Or men, perhaps?"

I thought of Selene, and the way the light caught her hair and eyes this evening. The way her water-blue toga draped over her slight shoulders. She was very pretty, but she was not the one for me. Not now, at least. "As of right now, my only interest is my work, Octavia."

"I see," Octavia said, with a sly smile. She rose to her feet and gestured at me to follow. "Regardless, there is someone who wants to see you. Perhaps she can turn your eye away from all your busywork and onto something else."

I sighed heavily, but decided to humor her. She wound along the lotus pools, dipping in and out of pools of lantern light until we neared the _trinclinium's_ broad portico. The stone walkway was slippery, slick with water from a recent rain. A stream of voices and clinking silverware drifted beyond the columns, as wedding guests continued to laugh and dine and indulge. As we stepped forward, I noticed Tiberius sitting at the edge of the portico with a small group of people. I recognized Antonia and Tonia, Octavia's daughters, perched beside him. But there was someone else standing with them, whispering and giggling behind her hand. I didn't realize who it was until she turned to face me. Marcella, Octavia's second eldest daughter. She had a warm complexion that gleamed under the low light, and a pair of dark, dewy eyes that were reminiscent of a doe's stare. A _stola_ of an exquisite crimson draped her willowy frame. When she saw me, she smiled.

As Octavia led me proudly to her, it suddenly dawned on me just what was happening. I knew Octavia wanted to pair me up with an eligible woman — but I'd _never_ imagined she'd try and set me up with her own daughter. Marcella, the girl I'd once kissed when I was thirteen because we were young and curious, who I'd spent childhood summers swimming with Capri. I thought about turning straight around and walking to my villa, but it was too late. Marcella had already seen me. She rose to her feet and smoothed out her toga, and when I realized how excitedly she was looking at me, I tried not to feel embarrassed. It's not that she wasn't pretty. On the contrary, Marcella was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever had the pleasure to see. But I was deeply uncomfortable that Octavia had dragged me here nonetheless.

"Well, look who it is," Tiberius called to me, and I was glad, for once, to hear his banter. "The Numidian Prince himself."

I dipped my head and smirked. "A pleasure, Tiberius, as always," I remarked coolly.

"What are _you_ doing out in public? There aren't any statues for you to gawk at."

"Actually, I've been looking for someone to model for an architect friend of mine. His latest statue is that of a Gorgon," I added, referring to the hideous, serpentine creature. I looked pointedly in Tiberius's direction. "It seems I've found the perfect model. Quite the likeness, Tiberius."

He chuckled, then turned to Marcella. "Juba's _obsessed_ with statues. Of all kinds. Men, kings, beasts…in fact, I've never met someone who likes looking at marble pectorals so much. It's a bit worrying, actually."

Marcella was giggling. I gave a thin smile. "Thank you for your contribution, Tiberius," I said sarcastically. Then I turned to Marcella, who was moving closer to me.

"It's great to see you again, Juba," she said, her eyes bright. Her long, dark hair fell to her waist, framing her square face and sooty eyelashes. I was suddenly aware of how smooth and full her lips were, and though I hated myself for it, I couldn't help but wonder if they felt the same since our last kiss.

"And you," I said, and I was mildly aware that Octavia was beaming, Tiberius was smirking, and Marcella's half-sisters were watching me with rapt attention. " That _stola_ looks quite nice on you. Very red. It compliments your…" Heat crept into my cheeks as I searched for a word. "Face."

Tiberius was shaking with silent laughter, but Marcella didn't seem to mind my awkward statement. "Thank you," she said, and a blush crept up her face that indeed, seemed to match her crimson toga.

"Why don't the two of you take a walk?" Octavia suggested cheerfully.

What in the name of Jupiter was she trying to _do_ to me? I hated to disappoint Marcella, because she was looking at me in a very keen way, but I squared my shoulders and said to Octavia, "Actually, there is something I must discuss with you first."

Octavia looked disappointed. "It cannot wait?"

"It cannot." My voice was firm.

"Very well."

I murmured a hasty goodbye to Marcella, Tiberius, and Octavia's daughters before strolling out towards the gardens. When we had placed a great distance between the portico and ourselves, I rounded on her. I tried to sound calm, but I could hear the frostiness of my tone as I snapped, "Octavia, your daughter is lovely, but you need to understand—"

"Forgive me, Juba. That was very wrong of me. You do not have to rush into anything. Absolutely not. I simply hoped…well, I worry about you sometimes. You seem so…so _distant_ lately, like you're caught in your own little world. I was hoping that Marcella might bring you back down to earth. So that life is not all about work and war, but something else." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I saw the fondness in her gaze as she looked at me. For a moment, I felt like a boy again, looking up into her soft eyes as she took me protectively under her wing. Like Gallia, she'd cared for me from years, not only becoming my ward, but my matriarch. She locked her eyes on mine as she continued, "My daughter is quite fond of you, and I know it was very forward of me to put the two of you together like that, but…you have to admit, it wouldn't hurt to spend some time with her. For all you know, Caesar might arrange for the two of you to marry."

"I doubt it," I admitted.

She frowned at my confidant tone, clearly wondering if I knew something she did not. I was surprised. It seemed Octavian had not informed her that Selene was to marry me. Perhaps he was still considering the marriage.

"I assure you, you'll fall in love sooner or later, Juba. Even if it does not involve Marcella."

I was flustered, which was quite unlike me. "Love?" I scoffed. "Love is foreign to me, Octavia."

"You say that now, but when you meet the one for you…" Her eyes grew misty, and I wondered if perhaps she was thinking of Antony. "I promise it shall not be foreign any longer."

* * *

 _Note_

Thanks for reading!

I have one more chapter to upload after this one, and then I'm taking a short break. Shouldn't be too long, maybe about a week or so.


	17. Rain

**Rain**

* * *

Octavia and I crossed the gardens as raucous laughter and conversation swelled across the Palatine. Though it was nearing dawn, and the dark skies threatened rain, everyone continued on with the celebrations. Almost every senator we passed was drunk, some red in the face, others still clinging to half-empty bottles of wine. A great commotion came from Agrippa's villa, and I knew that everyone had gone to see him remove his wife's girdle. But I was in no such mood to watch. My thoughts were brooding as I weighed the idea of _love,_ and kept shutting it down with a scoff. Love wasn't just foreign to me, it was also nonexistent. Imaginary. And I certainly was not about to let let it vex me. I was just wondering if I should retire to my villa when Selene suddenly appeared at Octavia's side, quiet as she walked with us across the rows of villas and glimmering pools. I noted she was very withdrawn, which I thought odd, but chose not to investigate. I was too busy scanning the crowds for Marcella, hoping she was nowhere in the vicinity. Somehow, I didn't quite think I'd be able to escape from her twice.

"Is it too late to ask you about a statue?" Octavia asked of me.

"I doubt I will be getting much sleep," I admitted, glancing around at the guests as they thundered across the Palatine, calling to one another and shouting at slaves.

"It's a gift I purchased for my daughter," she said. "But I'd like to know it's authentic before she takes it."

A light rain dripped around us as we made our way to Octavia's villa. We were halfway there when Octavia stopped suddenly and turned to Selene. "Where is Gallia?"

"Gone," Selene answered her.

"With Magister Verrius?" Octavia asked.

"No. Livia sent her with a senator to take him home."

A feeling of ice-cold dread flooded across me at her words. "Who?" I asked quickly. "Which one?"

"A man named Gaius," Selene said.

I looked to Octavia at once, and the panic on her face was unsettling. Fear bubbled in the pit of my stomach as I imagined Gallia left alone with that wretched man. Gaius Tacitus was well-known across Rome for his interest in beautiful women — and for his uncanny ability to always have what he wanted.

"Dear gods," Octavia whispered in horror. "When did he take her?"

"When everyone went inside to see Claudia's bridal couch."

My fingers brushed the hilt of my blade. I blinked rain from my eyes and said at once, "I know where he lives. Below the south shoulder of the hill. I'll go."

I turned to leave, but Selene shouted after me. "Wait! I know a shortcut!"

"Where?"

"Behind the Magna Mater," she said, and my eyes narrowed.

Octavia gasped. "Through the woods?"

"We used to use it on our way to the ludus," Selene explained quickly. "Before Juba started coming with us."

She glanced to Juba for confirmation. "Do you know it?"

"No one uses the woods…" I began cautiously.

But Selene was adamant. "We did! Marcellus convinced Gallia to take us that way. I can show you." Her eyes were desperate as she pleaded with me. "Gallia would never use it in the dark, but you'll get down faster."

Octavia nodded fearfully. "Go. Both of you!"

I did not need to be told twice. I snatched a torch from a passing soldier and led Selene through the crowds of drunken men and litters, towards the Temple of Magna Mater. As we came to the trees, I lifted my torch to illuminate the earth, letting its light glitter like gold on rain-soaked fronds. "So where is it?" I demanded testily. "I don't see a path." Gallia was in danger, and I couldn't help but feel as if Selene were wasting the precious time it would take to rescue her.

Selene wandered along the ridge of trees. "Over here," the princess called, and I noticed a small track, long worn by footsteps, that curled into the darkness. As we walked along it in silence, she asked in a small voice, "What if he attacks her on the road?"

But I shook my head. "With so many soldiers watching the Palatine?"

Leaves shifted and whispered beneath our feet. The rain lightened to just a thin drizzle, seeping its chill into the air around us. When we finally came to the bottom of the hill, I took the torch from Selene, and together we raced through a cluster of marble villas. My cloak billowed behind me, and I was aware that time was slipping away, falling through our fingers like sand. We had to find Gallia. Should anything have happened to her…I would never forgive myself.

Gaius's house rested along a small copse of trees. The heavy wooden doors were guarded by a couple of men, and they studied me with hostile eyes as we approached. "Has a slave girl entered here?" I demanded.

The first guard shouldered his way towards me, his mouth wrenched into a sneer. "That is none of your business—"

I was quick; I dropped my torch and snatched my dagger from my thigh in a swift movement. One hand kept the blade pressed into the guard's flesh, the other gripped a fistful of his hair and snapped his head back to expose his throat. He swallowed, and I saw the terror bulging in his beady black eyes. "Let me repeat my question." I spoke with quiet menace. "I come from Caesar's sister Octavia, who would like to know if the Princess of Gaul, her favorite slave, was taken inside."

The other guards lowered their swords, and the man beneath my dagger gasped and said, "Yes, she's inside."

I rushed forward without pause and slammed the doors to the villa open. "Gaius Tacitus!" I bellowed, ignoring the terrified slaves who shuffled out of sight, their eyes following me as I passed. Rage clouded my eyes like a heavy smoke. "Gaius Tacitus!"

And then he appeared. He stepped out from a chamber and smiled at me, his toga discarded for a thin tunic. "Juba. And the little princess of Egypt, already budding into a woman."

When he leered at Selene, I lost control. _"Where is she?"_ I snarled.

"Who?"

By the gods, I was going to _murder_ him. I crossed the room and brought my face within inches of Gaius's filthy nose.

"You mean the Gallic whore?" he mocked.

A small, sorrowful moan came from inside a chamber closest to the atrium. "Gallia!" I shouted, and although my voice was sharp, I could hear it quaver with fear. The very sound of her made the blood boil in my veins, searing my flesh as though on fire. I grabbed Gaius from the throat and slammed him against the wall, causing several vases to tumble to the floor and shatter. Slaves ran from the room, frightened by the violence unfolding before them.

Selene rushed into the chamber. "She's hurt!" I heard her scream. There were sounds of movement, followed by Selene saying gently, "Come."

"Stay inside!" I shouted, and I seized that moment to turn my attention back to Gaius. A violent rage gripped me, ripped my composure to pieces, tore my mind apart. My fingers closed on his throat and crushed it. He struggled, gasping for air, but there was none. I stared directly into his reddening face as his windpipe began to collapse. His eyes bulged out, and I longed for him to experience twice the pain he had caused Gallia. I wanted him to suffer as he died. So I lowered my hand and grabbed my dagger instead, diving the blade deep into his throat. I watched as he rattled and choked on his own blood. Watched it bubble at his lips. The final sounds of a waste of human flesh who deserved to die. His limbs started to convulse, shuddering against the wall as if he were having a seizure. Then they grew limp like rags, and his eyes became hollow and unfocused, and I watched him crumple to the floor in a pool of blood at my feet.

Then I went to Gallia. But the sight of her lying curled up on the couch made me stop in my tracks, my face frozen in horror.

Selene had draped her in a cloak, but I could still see the bruises billowing darkly upon her skin, covering everything from her forehead to her ankles. One of her eyes was ringed in black, and her lip was swollen and bloodied. Her long hair had been torn; I could see the long blond strands cluttering the floor. Her eyes were empty, stripped of emotion. She looked so small and so defeated, and it hurt me more than anything to see her this way. I had known Gallia since I was a small child. Aside from Octavia, she was the first person to show me kindness when I had been torn away from Numidia and brought to Rome. She had cared for me, and kept me company when I cried for my mother late at night. She taught me how to wield a dagger. How to tell Grecian statues from Roman ones. How to stand up against the other boys at the _ludus_ who taunted me for my poverty, my Numidian heritage. I loved her like a sister. And seeing her in such a state brought me nothing but pain, as if someone had buried a knife in my chest.

"Gallia…" I kneeled to sweep her into my arms. I was gentle, so as not to hurt her. She was trembling like a leaf caught in wind, and I hugged her closer to my chest, biting back a violent sob.

"Please take me to Magister Verrius," she whispered into my tunic.

I left at once. The guards shifted uneasily outside, their eyes wide as they watched us emerge. "What…what happened?" one of them asked.

"Go inside and find out," I said savagely. I walked Gallia across the Palatine towards Verrius's house, Selene trailing behind. When we reached the door, I did not even have to knock. Verrius must have been waiting for us, because he appeared at once.

"Gallia!" he shouted, anguish spreading across his face.

Her lip trembled as I carried her inside, through the atrium and to a small woman's chamber washed in glowing lamplight. I lowered her gently on a couch and then left with Selene, closing the door behind me. Together we waited in the atrium as Gallia told Verrius what had happened. I wanted to bury my face in my hands. I wanted to scream. I wanted to return to the home of Gaius Tacitus and kill every guard that had allowed Gallia to be taken inside. But sitting before Selene, I had to keep myself composed. So instead I sat stiffly, pinching the bridge of my nose in an effort to master myself, my emotions.

"She should have said no to Livia!" Selene cried.

"She's a slave. She doesn't have that privilege."

"But what if this happens to her again?"

"It probably will," I admitted, folding my hands in my lap.

We could hear Gallia weeping beyond the door, and Verrius raising his voice in a fit of rage and disbelief. I couldn't bear to hear her cries, and I was quite glad when Selene spoke, for I was about ready to lose my damn mind.

"So how will you explain the senator's death?" she asked quietly.

"I will say he challenged me," I said shortly. I was almost too angry and too flustered to speak. Images from the night were searing through my mind. Gallia's blackened eye that stared up at me from a battered face. Blood trickling from Gaius's mouth in a stream of dark red. Selene showing me the wooded path that wound through rainy gloom with apprehension in her eyes. "Only you were there to see it."

"Don't you care about what happened tonight?" Selene demanded of me, when I said nothing else.

My eyes flashed and I leaned closer to her. "Of course I do, or I would never have risked my life to kill Gaius," I said icily. "But aside from freeing every slave in Rome and joining ranks with a traitor, what would you like me to do?"

Selene paused for a long moment, her light green eyes blinking rapidly, as if she were trying to come to terms with something difficult. I continued to glower at her until she raised one hand and brought her fingers to the sea-pearl necklace hanging from her neck. The glittering gold pendant at its center had to be worth an entire fortune alone, and I was certain that even the pearls were essentially priceless. Then she did something that caught me by surprise. She unclasped the necklace and shoved it towards me.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I demanded, as the gleaming pearls passed into my hands.

"You deal in old statues and jewels," she whispered. "I want you to trade it for me and buy Gallia's freedom."

I was shocked. It took a moment for me to recover myself. And when I spoke, I kept my voice carefully neutral. "And what makes you think that Octavia will accept it?"

"The _denarii_ from this necklace could feed half the mouths in the Subura."

"I doubt she needs _denarii_."

"Are you refusing?"

I wasn't. It was brilliant, what she was doing. I'd never known her heart could contain so much kindness. But then again, she was quite fond of Gallia. She'd never once disrespected her. Never once allowed her to speak the words _domina._ I took the necklace and held it to the nearest oil lamp, turning it over so that the milky pearls glowed beneath the lamplight.

"It's real," Selene said quietly.

Of course it was. "I would expect no less from a princess of Egypt." I paused. "Was it the queen's?"

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them back and said, "Yes. But if Octavia accepts the payment, I don't want you to tell Gallia who it came from."

I raised an eyebrow. "How charitable."

"It isn't charity!" Selene shouted at me. Then, her voice fell to a whisper. "I owe this to her." Her eyes, filled with steely certainty, refused to look away from mine.

"Very well," I said briskly, stowing the necklace carefully into the folds of my cloak. Selene slumped lower on the couch, and I knew she was fighting back tears. When Verrius appeared with red-rimmed eyes, and told us that Gallia was finally asleep, I escorted Selene back to Octavia's villa. The daybreak was wet and frozen, and a heavy rain began to fall. It tumbled around us in a silvery sheet, flooding the grassy fields that slumbered beneath pools of ground mist. My boots sloshed through the puddles of muddy rainwater as we continued onward. Selene's hair was soaking wet; I removed my cloak and held it over her head as we walked. She glanced at me, and for a moment I thought she'd sting me with her usual sharp criticism. But instead, she said nothing. Her eyes were hollow with worry, and I knew that she was thinking of Gallia.

I was not at all happy to return to Octavia's villa, for that meant I'd have to part with Selene. Raindrops dotted my hair and dripped into my eyes as we walked forward. I ushered Selene under the sheltered portico where we stood side by side for a long moment, watching the falling rain. Perhaps I was still reeling from so much adrenaline, but I found myself wanting to take her hand and hold it. I wanted to cup her chin, and wipe the rain and tears from her cheek. I wanted to thank her for helping Gallia with such a brave, kindhearted gesture. And tell her that there was no way I would allow her to part with her pearl necklace. Not when it was the very last remnant of her mother. I had so much to say, but I couldn't exactly find the words to say it. So I kept silent, just listening to the downpour sluicing the earth and studying the dark curls of her damp hair. I was surprised when she did not go inside. She went on staring out at the rain for a long moment before she realized that I was watching her. Her leaf green eyes studied me in a peculiar manner. Almost as if she were curious.

"What?" she whispered.

"Nothing," I said briskly.

"You were staring at me."

"Was I?" I raised my eyebrows. "My apologies. I think I was simply lost in thought. It has been a long night, princess."

But she was not convinced. "Juba, do you have something you wish to say to me?"

I took my scarlet cloak and wrapped it around her. I thought she would wrench away, but instead she stood there, looking at me as I bundled her up from the rainy chill.

 _Love is foreign to me, Octavia,_ I'd said scornfully. But now, I wasn't so sure.

"I just want you to know that whatever happens, Gallia will be okay. She is safe now, and no harm will come to her again."

She nodded numbly, fighting back tears.

And then I turned away from her, disappearing into the rain towards my own villa. I looked back only once, and saw that Selene was still standing on the portico, draped in my scarlet cloak as she watched me leave.


	18. Praise

**Praise**

* * *

I did not trade Selene's pearl necklace. And I never would. Despite her kind efforts to help Gallia and put an end to her servitude, I refused to allow the princess to part with something so meaningful. It was a piece of her, the last memory she had of her mother and the Alexandrian life she had once led. And as someone who had very little left of my family, I understood how much its sentimental value meant to her. I thought of the resolve in the princess's gaze as she'd handed the necklace to me. She was adamant about seeing Gallia go free, but even so, I could see the hurt in her eyes as the gleaming string of pearls trickled into my hand. I had been stunned that she'd even considered such a thing. It was selfless, what she had done, and I wanted to return the favor. So I stowed the necklace away in my chamber, locked it away in a heavy wooden chest I'd once acquired from Crete. There it would stay, while I would pass along my own _denarii_ to Octavia in Selene's name.

Rain continued to wash the Palatine as I set out for Octavia's home the following morning, a leather purse of glittering _denarii_ in hand. My cloak was drenched, my hair glossed with rainwater, but I scarcely even noticed the wet. I met with Octavia in her atrium, where we took shelter from the downpour beneath an awning of marble. We sat together for a moment, content with the silence broken only by the falling rain. Then, Octavia suddenly grasped at my arm and began to cry. Thunder crackled overhead, and the icy droplets continued to patter even harder, as if the skies were weeping along with her.

"I should have kept an better eye on Gallia!" she sobbed to me. "I should never have let her within sight of Livia. I should have dismissed her that evening to keep her away from that filthy _wretch!"_

"There is no use dwelling what should or could have been done," I murmured, laying a gentle hand on hers. "What happened, happened. And one day, Livia will have to answer to her misdeeds." I hesitated, then began, "Octavia. Tell me, if there was a way to free Gallia, would you do so?"

She stared at me, wiping her eyes. "Of course…I…I…"Her voice grew feeble with regret, and it went without saying that there had always been a way to grant Gallia freedom; Octavia had simply been too reluctant to do so. I could see it from the deep guilt that wrenched her face.

"May I share something with you?" When she nodded, I said, "Last night, after I brought Gallia home to Verrius, Princess Selene came up with an idea." A small frown creased Octavia's brow as she looked curiously at me. "She asked me to sell her pearl necklace in exchange for Gallia's freedom." I held up the bag of my own _denarii_. "Will you accept?"

Octavia stared at me in stunned silence. Then she began to weep. "Absolutely. Yes, of course I accept, Juba. I just cannot believe she'd…" She drew a sharp breath. "Oh, what am I saying? I _can_ believe she would do this for Gallia. Selene is too good of a person. She has kindness in her heart that I could never equal."

"You are remarkably kind," I said sharply. I squeezed her hand, willing for her to believe it. "One of the kindest people I have ever met in life. When I was brought here from Numidia, it was you who cared for me and helped me with Roman customs, when people like Livia regarded me as nothing more than slime beneath her sandals. You fed me, kept me close, and gave me a roof over my head. The same can be said for Gallia, and Selene and Alexander. I would say that your kindness is equal to Selene, if not more." I kissed her cheek. "Thank you. Shall I send the news to Gallia?"

"Yes, please. I will speak with Selene when she wakes up. She must know what this means to me…what it means to Gallia and Verrius."

"Certainly, Octavia." I inclined my head. Then I left for Verrius's home to bring the good news. Gallia, who was still recovering from the brutal attack, lay curled up on a couch. A slat of sunlight fell upon her cheek, illuminating the blackness that billowed along her pale skin. Seeing her beautiful face marred with bruises only wreaked even more pain and anger in my heart. I could not stand to see her this way, and a quick glance in Verrius' direction told me that his grief had nearly grown unstable. Their life had been ripped apart, but I hoped the good news would be enough to mend it.

I seated myself beside Gallia and took her battered hand. "Gallia," I began softly, and she raised her weary blue eyes to mine. "I know you are tired, but do you have a moment to talk?"

"Of course," she managed, slowly lifting herself up from the pillows. "What is it, Juba?"

"I come from Octavia with the most wonderful news." Verrius lowered his scroll, while Gallia looked on curiously. I could not stop beaming as I explained, "She has granted you your freedom."

There was a long pause as both Gallia and Verrius stared at me in shock. "You are certain?" Verrius whispered. "But Gallia — she is Octavia's favorite!"

Gallia seemed dazed, almost, as if trapped in a dream. "I do not understand."

"You no longer belong to the house of Octavia," I explained merrily. "You are a slave to no one, and are free to do as you wish."

"Free," she mused, in a small voice brimming with wonder. She spoke the word as though it was foreign to her.

I stared into Gallia's wide blue eyes and gave her a warm smile. "Yes," I said gently. "And what's more, it was paid for by Princess Selene." When they exchanged confused glances, I explained, "She gave me her pearl necklace to sell last night. The one that had been gifted to her by Kleopatra. She wishes for you to be free. Octavia does as well. We all do."

At once, Gallia began to sob. But the tears staining her cheeks were ones of happiness, and I couldn't help but grin as Verrius rushed forward and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. They deserved their happiness. And after many long years of meeting one another in secret, now they would be able to marry. Gallia would never have to answer to Livia's cruelty again. She could do as she pleased, and I was certain Octavia would likely pay her in gold to continue with her _ornatrix_ duties. I cheerfully offered Verrius and Gallia my congratulations, then retired to my villa to continue with my next plans.

* * *

 _June, 28 BC_

Verrius and Gallia married in the summer, when the sunlight grew crisp and heat rose from the stone and marble streets. It was a quiet affair, set in a small temple on the outskirts of the city. I was present, along with a few members of Verrius' family. The secrecy was largely due to what might happen should Livia catch wind of the marriage. Her disapproval of freedwomen marrying born citizens could prove to be problematic, if not dangerous. And so the marriage was conducted quietly, and I felt joy swell in my chest as I watched Verrius finally kiss his beautiful bride. Even though a few bruises remained on her neck, they were beginning to fade, and remained almost unnoticeable in contrast to how brightly her smile and blue eyes shone.

Gallia was well enough to accompany everyone on the summer progress to Capri. On the island with its cool blue waters and gleaming sea palace, we would be far away from the heat and humidity that clutched Rome. When all belongings had been packed, and Octavian's Praetorian Guard had readied their blades, we began the trek to the shores of Naples. It had been a while since I had glimpsed the sea — almost years now, since the day we'd come to Rome with Alexander and Selene in tow. I glanced in Selene's direction now, as my horse galloped along the dusty road. She was concealed from the glaring heat in a carriage with her brother, Marcellus, and Julia. I was curious to see what she'd think of the palace by the sea, with its exquisite architecture and grand windows that opened to the salty breezes. Rome was not much of a sight, but perhaps Capri would remind her of Alexandria.

The trek to Naples lasted three days, but soon we came upon the harbor, where brilliant blue waves swept along a pebbled shore. A fleet of ships were waiting for us, and after loading the cargo, we began a sail towards the island. I'd never had issue with sea sickness, but I noticed that many people clutched uncertainly at their stomachs, Octavia and Livia included. Alexander and Selene, however, showed no signs of queasiness. It was as if the rolling motion of the waves and the brush of the sea winds seemed to give them strength. I found myself staring at Selene more than I should, at the way the light swept over her bronze skin. She seemed to relish being out in the open sea, and it made me happy to see her content.

Tiberius, who I'd thought had been buried in a book, caught me looking and snickered. "She's very pretty, isn't she?"

My shoulders stiffened. "I suppose," I said casually.

"Marcellus can't stop looking, either." Tiberius nodded in his rival's direction. "You'd think he'd be satisfied enough with Julia hanging on his arm day and night."

At this, I tightened my hands into fists. "One should certainly hope so," I said, trying to contain my jealousy. "He's already intended for one girl, he doesn't need to claim another."

Tiberius laughed. "He'd claim every girl in Rome if he could, dirty _lupae_ included," he said scathingly. "Anyway, I've seen the way Selene looks at him. Marcellus might not notice, but it's pretty obvious."

"She is fond of him."

"Yes, and I don't understand why." I thought I could detect a bit of contempt in Tiberius's voice — and envy, perhaps? "He's handsome, but so what? Does he know of Homer, or Cicero, or Sophocles, like she does? Does he even appreciate the study and application of architecture? No! He's too busy squandering his gold in the Circus." He shook his head in disgust. "Pathetic."

I looked towards Marcellus, who'd crossed the deck towards Selene. He leaned close to her and murmured something in her ear, making her laugh. I found myself wishing more than anything that she'd look at me the same way she looked at him. But then, I reminded myself that in her eyes I was crass, callous Juba. The spy with the sarcastic tongue who did nothing but Octavian's bidding. I was the very last person she'd come to have feelings for, and the harsh reality of it made me shake my head with a sigh.

I was glad when we finally reached Capri. The palace sat at the top of sweeping verdant cliffs, a gleaming pearl overlooking the white-sanded shores and crystal blue seas. Litters of ebony and bronze carried the children through the terraced gardens and sprawling vineyards. Octavian, too, was borne up by a litter, while Agrippa and I took to riding our horses the remainder of the journey. When we reached a courtyard blooming with ivy and bathed in golden light, I was forced to watch as Selene disappeared with Vitruvius and Tiberius. She'd been excited to see the palace architecture, and an eager Vitruvius granted her a tour. He'd show her everything, I knew, from the high-vaulted ceilings to the elaborate frescoes. Perhaps she'd even think of how the palace's beauty would rival that of Egypt. I was just wondering whether or not I should join them when Octavian waved me over with a hand. I crossed the courtyard reluctantly, my boots echoing along the ocean of blue mosaic tiles, and was forced to obediently stand at his side while he extensively mapped out our summer plans.

According to Octavian, we were to have dinner at Pollio's villa on the south shore of Capri tomorrow night. Fantastic. I was not happy at all to hear that we would be dining with someone so utterly repulsive. But rather than voice my stark opinion to Octavian, I bowed my head and praised Pollio's generous contribution of gold to the treasury. It was, after all, what Octavian wanted to hear. Agrippa, I noted, looked almost irritable, and I knew he was thinking of the poor newborn daughter that Pollio had cast out on the winter streets. Of course, the daughter was now safely with her new parents, but no one but myself, Gallia, and Verrius were aware of this truth. At least I felt some modicum of satisfaction, knowing I'd been able to show kindness where Pollio had shown cruelty.

When Caesar finally dismissed us, Agrippa pointedly stalked away and refused to speak to anyone. I didn't want to keep company with Pollio any more than he did, but I supposed I'd simply have to grin and bear it. And sure enough, we left the sea palace for Pollio's villa the following evening. It was an unnecessarily large home, grand enough to house at least three thousand people — and most of them slaves. I curled my lip with distaste as we walked through the garden towards the _triclinium._ The sun had finally set, and the only light in the cool, bluish darkness was that of the golden lanterns, illuminating the cobblestone path we walked upon. Pollio led us through chamber after chamber, and I heard Selene mutter incredulously to Julia, "Does he even really need this much space?"

Our tour came to a stop before a very vast, dark pool of water. I peered at it, noticing that the murky water there was not still, but alive and writhing. For a moment, I was confused. Then I realized what the mass of slithering shapes were.

"And that is my eel pool," Pollio said with a proud gesture.

"Eels?" Octavia said, clearly outraged. "What for?"

"Entertainment!" Pollio said simply.

I was relieved to see that Selene kept her distance. She and her brother wore identical looks of disbelief, as if they had never seen something so revolting. Everyone else in the group seemed wary, Octavian included. Marcellus was the first to break the awkward silence. "Where do they come from?" he asked.

"All across Capri," he answered. "I have my slaves find them for me."

I looked sharply at him. "That must be very dangerous," I said cautiously, struggling to keep my voice level, when in actuality I was furious such a fool was risking lives so carelessly.

But Pollio merely smiled. "It is," he said carelessly, and the rage boiled under my skin. "Shall we see them feed?"

Before anyone could object, we watched as he ordered one of his servants to bring rotten meat from the kitchens. The boy had to have been no more than ten, and you can tell that he was anxious. I noticed that he kept away from the pool, watching his toes as if his life depended on it.

"Your meat, Domine," he squeaked.

"Go ahead," Pollio ordered. "Throw it."

The boy's expression turned to one of horror. " _Me,_ Domine?" he stammered as he trembled.

Pollio snarled at him. "Yes! This is Caesar who's waiting!"

I narrowed my eyes, watching as the boy moved timidly to the rim of the pool. The waters were dark, almost black as ink, but the silvery outlines of the eels were still visible, slipping in and out of the rocks. The poor boy was scared, and I was determined to catch him if he should slip and fall. We all watched in an uncomfortable silence as a handful of smelly meat was tossed into the darkness of the pool. Eels began to swarm excitedly now, twisting and spinning and snapping at the rotted lumps. I could see their razor-sharp teeth and sightless, gleaming eyes. It was a vile sight.

Octavia looked as if she were going to be sick. "Shall we continue?" she suggested weakly.

"Oh yes," Pollio said mildly."But did you see how they attack? They're absolutely vicious creatures!" His delight sickened me, and when I glanced in Agrippa's direction, it was clear he shared my misgivings.

When the tour finished with a last look at a grand library and its sweeping walls of books, we moved into the summer _triclinium_ for dinner. I was moody, and wondered how anyone could even eat after witnessing those eels rip their food apart. I wondered if Pollio had the creatures for another reason, and felt certain that his "entertainment" was something much darker. Why else would the boy be so frightened of the pool?

Platters of steamed mussels, oysters, and roasted pheasant swimming in almond sauce were brought to our tables. I had lost my appetite, so I merely picked at toasted bread and green grapes while the rest of the guests dined and chatted about their banal livelihoods. I could hear Tiberius and Julia having a heated conversation and the next table over. My name was even brought up. "Try Juba," I heard Tiberius snap at her, after she'd accused him of treachery. " _He's_ the spy."

"Juba, are you feeling well?" Octavia asked, when she realized I wasn't eating.

"No," I answered honestly. "I may need to step outside for some fresh air —"

My voice was broken off by the thin crescendo of shattering glass. Everyone looked up to see an old servant standing frozen, horrified. A broken goblet lay amongst the glitter of glass fragments, and it was clear that he had dropped it by accident. That didn't stop Pollio from storming forward, shouting so loudly that I thought the entire island of Capri might have heard him. "You stupid son of an ass!" he bellowed.

The old man cowered before his wrath. "Please, Domine, I didn't mean—"

Pollio slammed his foot into the old man's jaw with a resounding crack, and I flinched as he fell back into the shattered glass. A pained cry escaped his lips as the shards embedded themselves into his bare palms. Pollio continued to kick the elderly servant, even as the blood pooled at his mouth, and his frail body began to convulse. My hand instinctively flashed to the hilt of my dagger.

"Don't," Gallia reminded me under her breath, but I was livid.

"Please, Polio—" the old man begged.

"This is the finest crystal we own!" He swung around wildly to look at his guards, spit flying from his angry mouth. "This _asinus_ has broken one of my largest vessels. Octavia wanted to know why I have eels? Take him to the pool!"

So the pool _had_ been to punish his slaves. I could not have imagined why someone would own eels in the first place. _Some entertainment_ , I thought darkly, while Gallia's hand flew to her mouth and Selene's eyes widened in shock. How could anyone show such cruelty?

"Please, Domine!" The old man grew hysterical, his watery gray eyes filling with terror. Blood, dark as wine, bubbled at his mouth as he screamed. "Please! Kill me here, but not the eels!"

Then Octavian did something that shocked me. He rose from his chair in one fluid movement, picked up his crystal goblet, and let it fall from his fingertips. Everyone watched in silence as it shattered apart, leaving a dark stain upon the tiled blue mosaics. Octavian watched the wine pool upon the floor, spreading out in red rivulets. Then he proceeded to smash every last piece of crystal at the table. The pieces scattered and glittered across the floor, and the noise was so loud that even Selene covered her ears. When his outburst had finished, and there was no more glass to destroy, Octavian turned to Pollio and demanded, "Will you be feeding me to the eels as well?"

"Of course not, Caesar," Pollio stammered.

Octavian looked to the old man, whose eyes filled with tears. "How many men have you killed this way?"

The old man answered for his master. "Seven," he whispered.

Pollio slammed his fat hand on the nearest table, making platters and goblets shudder. "And all of them deserved it!"

Octavian's eyes flashed. "And this slave," he said, his voice as hard as stone. "Does he deserve it?"

There was a long pause, before Pollio answered wisely. "Not with an example such as Caesar before him," he said, and I was surprised that the stupid man had as much sense to answer in Octavian's favor.

The old man was shaking. His blood was smeared across the floor amongst bits of broken glass, and it was clear that Pollio's kick had severely damaged his jaw. "You are generous, Domine," he managed to slur out. I felt a stab of pity for the man, and I was not the only one. Octavia had to look away, and I saw the glimmer of frustrated tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Dominus Pollio is _very_ generous," Octavian said. "So generous, he will be freeing you tonight."

Horatia gasped aloud, and Pollio merely bowed his head. Servants rushed to the old man's aid, helping him up from the mess of blood and glass. I was stunned, and when I returned to my chamber that night, I sat before the open window and drafted a new actum under the guise of the Red Eagle. It would not be one of criticism, or of contempt. It was in praise of Octavian, for setting free a slave who'd been abused and tortured by his master. His generosity was something that the rest of Rome should be aware of, and I hoped that in time, he would come to extend that generosity to all those enslaved.

* * *

 _Note:_

Hey there! Been awhile since my last upload. I re-read Cleopatra's Daughter last week and wanted to continue with Juba's story. Will be uploading more soon until Juba's side of the story is complete. Also I don't really proofread so feel free to point out any errors. Thanks for reading!


	19. Savior

**Savior**

 _February, 27 BC_

* * *

Several months after the visit to Capri, when we'd traded glimmering blue waters and sloping green hills for the gritty sprawl of Rome, Octavian made arrangements to dedicate the temple of Apollo. I once again played the part of his loyal right-hand man, making any and all arrangements in his favor. There were feasts to plan, and security measures to undertake. On top of that, Tiberius and Marcellus had turned fifteen and would celebrate their coming-of-age during the March festival of Liberalia. And even in the midst of all this trite planning, there was, of course, the business of the Red Eagle to attend to. And so in the late nights, with candlelight flickering across my desk and Gallia and Verrius at my side, I spent time drafting letters and transferring enough gold from my bank to buy fifty slaves' freedom. I plotted routes that would return freedmen to their homelands, slipped into fighting arenas to spring gladiators from their cages, and scribbled acta to once again condemn the brutal mistreatment of slaves.

There was much to do; even so, I could not help but long for the Capri again. It had been a well-needed respite. I missed walking along the beaches, studying the horizon with very little on my mind — no thoughts of the Red Eagle or of Octavian, only of Selene. I missed the shift of sand beneath my feet. The lulling sound of waves slithering along the shore, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the heady smell of algae and saltwater brine. And I hated to admit it, but I'd been intrigued by the sight of Selene swimming in her breastband and loincloth. She certainly had grown, and I noticed many men — Marcellus and Tiberius included — giving her and Julia interested looks. I could not help myself; I was only human. There was no denying she was beautiful, but there was something I enjoyed about seeing her with wet hair and skin, clambering out from the crystalline lagoons with water dripping from her curls.

But now that we had returned to Rome, and the blue seas had been replaced with a wide ocean of cobblestone and marble, I needed to return to reality. One windy afternoon, I decided to set into motion another plan of the Red Eagle: the criticism of the slums and decrepitude of Rome. Octavian carelessly allowed Roman homes to be built from next to nothing — thin brick walls and watered-down concrete, and these posed a danger to innocent lives. Yet, he and the senators chose to look away, even as the inner foundations of Rome were crumbling.

I began my day by donning a long black cloak and walking to Verrius's villa, where Gallia helped hide my long, dark hair underneath a blonde wig.

"Very handsome," she teased, when I studied myself in the mirror. "You ought to have been born blonde, Juba."

I smiled wryly, thinking of Marcellus. "Perhaps then Selene might take an interest in me."

She grinned. "So, you're finally ready to admit that you like her, then?"

I couldn't look her in the eye as I admitted mildly, "Perhaps."

"I knew it," she laughed. "I _knew_ you had a softer spot for her than you were actually letting on."

I smirked. "It's hard to resist the belligerent _charm_ of an Egyptian princess. She's quite fetching when she's angry."

Gallia chuckled. "I think she'll come around. Have you tried being nicer to her?"

"Of course," I said impatiently, and when she frowned, I admitted, "Well, as nice as Octavian expects me to be. I cannot show her too much kindness, Gallia, otherwise who knows what our _dear_ Caesar might do?" I rolled my shoulders back and snorted in exasperation. "And in any case, I should think that saving her life is being nice enough. Instead, she continues to glower at me at every waking moment, thinking that I am nothing but a spy."

"To be fair, that's what you _are_ , at least in her eyes," Gallia pointed out. "But be not worried, she'll come to know the truth some day. She'll know of everything that you've done for her — providing her with your gold, protecting her and her brother since their first day in Rome. She will be grateful."

"Grateful, yes, but I doubt that will lead her to like me." I stood shortly, slinging my bow and arrow over my back and covering it with my cloak. "I had better go."

"Be careful," Gallia murmured.

I smiled lazily. "As always."

I made my way to the Forum Boarium, slipping my way through the dark back alleys where steam poured from bathhouses, and grime blackened the tiles underfoot. Narrow streets were made dark by the teetering mess of houses and apartments that blotted out the sun. The stench that hit my nose soon after was a clear indication that I was nearing the market, and sure enough, I came upon the rows upon rows of cattle. The smell of manure hung over the tops of the porticoes, rising with the grunts of angry animals and the shouting of merchants. The market was encircled by poorly-made housing structures, and it was a wonder that anyone could allow citizens to live in such deplorable conditions. Cloth banners poured from their awnings, but not even their lively colors could hide the squalor. I approached the nearest apartment building, whose marble pillars were cracked and layered with filmy dirt. I drew one finger along its surface to reveal the gleaming marble it should have had. The neglect was such a shame.

As I entered the atrium, I was greeted by a thin, weary-eyed man with beard that was just beginning to gray. I walked forward and tried not to breathe in the smell of cattle manure that lingered with the room's mold-ridden decay.

"How may I help you?" the man asked tiredly.

"I am looking to rent a room," I said.

"For how long?"

"Just this afternoon, please. And I do not wish to be disturbed."

When I produced a handful of gold coins from beneath my cloak and dropped it into his palm, the man's eyes grew wide. "Certainly, Domine. Please, right this way. Do you have a preference for the room? Facing the east, perhaps?"

"I do not. Any room should do."

I was shown to a room with cracked floor tiles and dirtied curtains. There was a single couch, its surface splotched with dark stains. Several strips of fabric had been torn away, revealing tufts of the stuffed feathers. When the man took his leave, I lowered the hood of my cloak and proceeded to write an acta, occasionally brushing a strand of the blond wig from my face. I often rented rooms across Rome, along with Verrius, where we could write in private without worry. This was the first room I had taken in the Forum Boarium, and I had largely come here to detail the vile conditions that the plebeians were left to live in. Quickly, I penned out a long condemnation of the mistreatment of slaves, then added at the bottom:

 _So long as freedmen and slaves are forced to live in buildings made of thin brick walls and concrete mixed with more water than lime, there will be deaths, and those deaths stain Caesar's hands._

I had scribbled the last of the acta when a scream pierced the air. In my haste, I accidentally knocked over my ink bottle before rushing to the window to see what was going on. The Forum Boarium had descended into absolute chaos. I watched in shock as people rushed across the streets, screaming and grasping at their loved ones. Children cried, though some were frozen in terror. My eyes scanned the Forum, and I realized why they were fleeing: two bulls were thundering along the avenues, rearing their horns in anger. They must have somehow escaped their pens. I sprang like a leopard towards my bow and gripped it tight, poising the arrow in the direction of the raging animals. Then I noticed a familiar face.

Selene was standing with Gallia and Julia before a row of shops. What on earth were they doing here? While the first bull lumbered into a nearby apartment, the second began its charge straight for the girls. Gallia's scream ripped shrilly through the air as my fingers released my first arrow, then a second, a third, a fourth. Each one whistled cleanly through the air before driving deep into the bull's flesh. I watched it stagger and heave, breathless and too weak to fight the embrace of death. When it finally toppled over in a heap of matted fur and horns, and a soldier speared it through with a _pilum,_ Selene tilted her head towards me. I withdrew back into the window, my heart pounding. I had no idea why I was so nervous; she had seen me, but what did it matter? I remained under the guise of a blonde bowman. She had no idea who I was, and I doubt she would have been able to recognize my face several stories up.

The first bull was dead, but another remained. It shouldered its way through the apartment building next to mine, slamming its horns into anything that stood in its way. I could see it as it rushed along the balconies, angry and confused at its confinement. Rubble showered me, dusting my cloak like snow as the ground shook, and the foundation groaned. I had to leave — these apartments were unstable, and even if I was in the next building over, there was no telling if the entire block would collapse. So I slung my bow over my shoulder and rushed downstairs, gripping the banister with one hand to leap down six steps at a time. Sure enough, there was a terrible cracking noise, and the row of apartments next door began to collapse. Pillars toppled and balconies plummeted as the structures fell, disappearing into nothing more than a billowing cloud of dust and debris. One of the falling pillars nearly struck me as I staggered out into the street; but I rolled quickly to one side, sliding my way through the dirt.

When the dust finally settled, I looked around for Selene and the girls. For the first time in a while — since the discovery that Gallia had been taken by Gaius Tacitus — panic flooded me, snaking its icy way through my blood. I looked for Selene's curls amongst the crowd that had gathered, staring at the bull crushed beneath the fallen stone.

Then I saw her, and I finally released the breath I'd been holding.

She was standing between Julia and Gallia, and the three were completely unharmed. A group of guards encircled them, checking to see if they were alright. Selene seemed fine, but obviously shaken. I wanted nothing more than to embrace her, but I was no fool, so I kept my distance. Across the still silence of the Forum Boarium, I heard her say, "The man on the balcony…he saved our lives."

Everyone was distracted, so I seized the opportunity to post my actum. I reached for one of my arrows and slid it from its quiver. Using its sharpened tip, I nailed the actum to the door of the apartment building I'd been inside only moments before. Then I slipped away, into an alley and up a flight of stairs to a small promontory. From the vantage point, I watched as Selene pointed to the balcony I'd stood on when I'd shot at the bull. The guards went to the door, saw the actum, and immediately the crowd erupted into a frenzy. Someone shouted into the din, "It must have been the Red Eagle!"

At once, the guards rushed the apartment and headed up the stairs. I watched them from the promontory like a hawk, but they would find nothing of mine but an ink bottle I'd left behind. Sure enough, they emerged not long afterwards with some bottles and other copy of my actum. I watched briefly as one of the guards questioned Selene and Julia, but then I decided to take my leave. There was nothing more to see here; my actum had been seen, and Selene was safe. I drew the hood of my cloak and stole one last glance at her over my shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

I returned to my villa that afternoon and washed the powdery detritus from my skin. I wanted nothing more than to soak in the steamy bathwater and let my troubles wash away along with grit, but I forced myself to go the dinner. After changing into fresh clothes, I made my way to Octavia's villa. We were to dine in the _triclinium_ as per usual, but I noted that Selene wasn't eating. She wore a vague look, and her eyes seemed to be focused not on the food before her, but on something else. Her savior, perhaps? The thought made my stomach jolt with excitement, and I couldn't help but smile. But where Selene was reserved, Julia was busy recalling the tale to everyone at the table. Her eyes were bright, her voice earnest as it rang through the vaulted room. "The bull _charged_ us, it actually charged straight for us — Gallia screamed out, and I didn't know what else to do! But then, an arrow shot through the air, can you believe it? It hit the bull, then there were several more arrows after that! That's when the Red Eagle saved us." Her voice was breathless, her eyes full of adoration, and I wondered dryly if she'd have as much attraction for the Red Eagle if she knew it were me.

Octavian paused. A flicker of shock crossed his face before it settled into a smooth, impassive mask. "What?" he asked quietly, lowering his scroll.

Julia stole an uneasy glance at Selene before looking to her father. "It was him. He shot the bull that was coming toward us." She hesitated. "Didn't the guards tell you?"

 _Of course not,_ I thought to myself. _No one wishes to see Octavian's rage, and no one wants Marcellus to become suspect._

Livia's face grew scarlet, but Octavian was surprisingly calm. It was only his eyes that betrayed them, their grayness as frigid as hoarfrost. "And how do you know it was the rebel?"

"Because the same kind of arrow was used to hold the actum to the door."

Marcellus whispered severely, "Stop talking."

Octavian rose to his feet and walked to his daughter, the whisper of his cloak trailing along the tiles behind him. He seated himself on her couch and placed one arm tenderly around her shoulders. "So he saved you."

"From death," Julia said. "Right, Selene?"

When Selene nodded, Octavian asked, "And did you get a chance to look at him?"

"I…I don't know."

Octavian's voice was gentle. "This is very important," he encouraged. "See if you can remember."

Gallia's sharp blue eyes traveled in my direction as we both realized what was happening. It was crucial that Julia choose not to speak about the Red Eagle's appearance. Should she mention his "blonde" hair…well, Octavian would suspect anyone near him with tresses of a similar color. And the only two blondes closest to him were Marcellus and Magister Verrius. I turned my gaze to Julia, willing her to have enough sense not to speak.

But the girl was oblivious, much to my dismay. "Yes. Yes, I did. He had flaxen hair and strong arms."

Flaxen hair. That was all Octavian needed. Just another tiny piece that could fit into the puzzle, another tile to be laid in the mosaic of his pondering thoughts. I watched solemnly as he stood, and the smile he directed to Julia did not reach his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "Tomorrow, buy whatever silks you like."

Julia grinned with pride, completely unaware of the danger her account might have stirred. Gallia looked pale, and I resisted the urge to groan aloud. The foolish girl had no idea what she had done. While I had nothing to worry about given that the blonde wig had hidden my own dark hair, my own identity — she had implicated her future husband and her teacher all in one careless stroke. Octavian would likely keep Marcellus under a watchful eye, if he hadn't already turned his interest to Tiberius. And Verrius, too, would likely find himself under scrutiny. Flaxen hair was now associated with the Red Eagle, and it was no surprise that Octavian would do everything in his power to sniff him out.

I met with Verrius shortly after dinner. We stood in the cool, airy atrium of Octavian's villa, watching as guests departed for their own homes. "Be cautious," I warned him. "I will be unable to meet with you for a while, at least until Octavian's suspicious die down."

He nodded. "I understand. No doubt they will search my villa tonight," he added, his voice ringing with stony disapproval.

"They will come swiftly, but we needn't worry. There is no evidence to be held against you."

"None in the slightest," Verrius agreed. "It's a waste of time."

"I agree, but Octavian's paranoia might settle a little. In the meantime, I will have Gallia help me with the acta."

"Certainly." He paused. "Do you suppose Marcellus will fall out of favor of Caesar?"

"Let us hope not," I sighed out of frustration. "Though if he keeps sneaking away in the dead of night, I am certain Octavian won't hesitate to think he's the Red Eagle."

Verrius shook his head. "Perhaps we could find a way to draw Octavian's suspicions away from him…"

"Well, we could reveal to everyone that Marcellus frequents the _fornices_."

Even in the darkness, I could see my companion's eyes widen. Then, they narrowed with understanding, as if the truth had been obvious. "So _that's_ where he runs off to late at night, is it?"

I nodded. "Yes. I've followed him once or twice, as I was curious to see where he kept going. It's always just before daybreak, around the time when I often leave post acta at the Circus." I nearly rolled my eyes. "Hmm. You know, I could voice my suspicions to Agrippa, and maybe he could catch Marcellus in the act. It would be humiliating for him to say the least, but better humiliation than be accused of treason."

Verrius was nodding. "Excellent plan." He looked out across the rolling lawns, towards the east where he villa sat. The moon was rising in the distance, its light dipping the marble Palatine in silver. "I ought to return home. I am certain the guards are waiting to search me." I clapped my hand on his shoulder sympathetically, and then we departed for the night.

It was after Libera when I decided to set the plan in motion. The celebrations for Marcellus and Tiberius' coming-of-age passed, and in the following early hours of the morning, I went to wake Agrippa. He came to the door with a look of surprise, his black hair tousled and his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Juba?" he questioned. "What are you doing here?"

"I have reason to believe our _illustrious_ heir to the throne has snuck off into the night," I said, and when Agrippa looked confused, I said. "Marcellus. I was returning home from talks with a statue merchant when I spotted him leaving the Palatine." I was only telling half the truth; while I certainly hadn't met with any merchant that evening, I had stood in the shadows of the oaks that lined my villa, and watched as the shape of Marcellus slipped from Octavia's home and made its way down the slopes.

Agrippa was swift. "One moment. Allow me to dress, and then we will rally a few guards."

"Shall we alert Octavian?"

He paused, his hazel eyes thoughtful. "No," he said after a moment. "There is no need. Let us see where Marcellus has gone first, and then we shall explain the situation to Octavian." He disappeared into the house for a moment, then returned with his leather sandals laced and a cloak of deep blue tied around his neck. We walked shortly towards Octavia's to gather two additional guards, then made our way into the slanting streets of Rome. I was not at all happy to delve into the part of the city that thrived in its own filthy, seedy darkness, feeding off those who were forced to sell their bodies for a little gold — but we had no choice. This was the only way to prove Marcellus' innocence, and redeem him in the eyes of Caesar. And so it must be done.

* * *

 _Note:_

Thanks for reading! Working on some more chapters that should be up soon.


	20. Resign

**Resign**

* * *

It was a chilly night, the air damp and frozen, seeping into my skin. The twisting avenues glistened beneath a thin glaze of frost, and a ground mist could be seen hanging above the mismatched cobblestones. Only a few lanterns burned, lighting our way with a blaze of gold before yielding to pools of deep shadow. Agrippa's gaze was resolute but calm as we came to the fornices. The stench of sex and sweat was almost overwhelming. Seedy men lurked in the shadows of the porticoes, while prostitutes stood along the curb, watching us. One of them, a sleepy-looking woman in scant clothing one might have seen in old Egyptian times, turned to leer at me, and I was certain she might have called out at me had I not been amongst other guards. Her breasts were exposed through her beaded dress, dusted in what looked like silvery glitter, and sweat that had likely come from dozens of men gleamed on her body. The look in her sharp eyes was almost hungry when she stared at me, and I made a noise of disgust in my throat.

"Stop being so handsome, Agrippa, they're staring."

Agrippa shot me a shrewd glance, ignoring my jest. "Great Jupiter, this place is wretched," he muttered under his breath.

"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one," I remarked. "I've no idea what Marcellus is thinking. Is he _trying_ to contract some kind of genital disease? Because this is definitely the place to start."

He sighed. "The boy is misguided. He could have visited any other high-end brothel. Or taken a lover on the Palatine. A _hetaera,_ even. Anything but this…"

"I suppose he comes here for the secrecy. The fornices operate more along the lines of, 'fuck now, ask questions later.'"

Agrippa's eyes narrowed. "Yes, and it's high time we put an end to it."

We asked the patrons if they had seen a young blonde man passing through. One woman — young, with soot-black hair and almond eyes — came forward. "I could tell you," she offered, sliding her willowy body towards me. "For a price."

I stepped backwards before she could stroke my shoulder. "Your offer is staggering," I said sarcastically. "But I'll have to pass."

She tried playing coy. "Hmm, is that so?" She laughed, and I smelled wine on her breath. "I don't think a man like you could pass up a woman like me."

"Well…it's…not entirely difficult to do so, madam."

She looked mutinous at that point. I didn't mean to slight her, but her wine-heavy breath was making me terribly nauseous, and I could tell that Agrippa was seriously close to losing his patience. A man came forward then, weaving his way easily through the crowd. He carried himself with an almost sinister air, his beady eyes scrutinizing us. "You won't find the boy here," he said simply. "I help manage these fornices _._ He comes here quite often, but tonight I spotted him heading for those apartments over there." He pointed one finger to a plain, nondescript building in the distance. "No doubt he's chosen to rent a room with some other man's dirty lupae instead of visiting _my_ fine girls."

We rewarded the man with a few _denarii_ for his troubles, then made our way to the apartments. We were shown inside by the owner, who admitted a flaxen-haired boy had rented a room on the fourth floor. When we arrived at the door, we could hear the sounds of a girl moaning from the inside. Agrippa and I exchanged irksome looks; it was clear that he, like me, wanted to be anyone else but here. But it had to be done. Marcellus could not continue slipping away from the Palatine, not when he was suspected of being the Red Eagle.

Agrippa banged his fist on the heavy wooden door. There were several gasps and the sound of stumbling.

"Just a moment!" we heard a panicked Marcellus shout. We waited until the door swung open, revealing his red, sweaty face and unkempt hair. "I _thought_ I told you I didn't want to be bothered—!" he began angrily. Then his voice cut off abruptly when he saw myself, Agrippa, and the guards standing before him. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." I smirked at him, in spite of myself. I thought of the many times he'd flirted with Selene and felt a stab of vengeance.

"J-Juba?" he whispered under his breath, his bronze skin paling to white.

"Surprise," I said dryly. Agrippa tensed at my side, and I almost wondered if he was going to grab Marcellus by the scruff and drag him out of this deplorable place.

"Who is it, Marcellus?" a girl's voice behind him asked.

"Oh, and you've got a friend, too?" I asked sarcastically, arching one eyebrow. "The more the _merrier._ " I laid my palm flat on the door and pushed it open to reveal _Julia._ She was hastening to put on her clothes, but when she saw us, she burst into tears. I looked away then, not wanting to see her half-dressed, let alone hurt.

Agrippa was appalled. "Dress yourself!" he commanded, shielding his eyes with his palm. "And then we will talk!"

We waited outside the room until the two of them were presentable. Agrippa was fuming, he could barely speak. When they finally came to the door, I looked between them and commanded, "Explain yourselves." Julia looked absolutely mortified, keeping her eyes fixed on her gold-trimmed sandals. She didn't even glance at Agrippa, who was glaring daggers at her as if he had never seen such impropriety.

"We just wanted to see each other," Marcellus explained, running an agitated hand through his hair.

I slouched against the door frame and folded my arms. "Yes," I said sarcastically. "That's been established."

Agrippa stalked forward, looming over Marcellus with an expression of fury. "Find a better excuse, boy."

Marcellus stumbled backwards, raising his palms apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Agrippa, Juba." His voice was low, ringing with sincerity. "You must understand. We're in _love_ , and how can we be close when we're always watched by my mother, and by Octavian? Julia is my future wife, and the most beautiful girl I have ever set my eyes on. I can't help but want to meet with her before marriage. I'm only human!"

"Please don't tell my father," Julia sobbed into her hands. " _Please_ , I beg you."

Agrippa sighed, placing two fingertips to his temples. He rubbed them for a moment before glaring at the two lovers. "Marcellus, we're taking you back to the Palatine. Julia…" His eyes lingered on her, and I could see the affection in his eyes, the same warm, fatherly affection he held for his daughter Vipsania. "I will send the two guards to escort you home. We will make no mention that you were here. Instead, we will tell Caesar that Marcellus has been visiting lupae."

"What?" Marcellus looked outraged.

"Quiet," I snapped, and Marcellus looked taken aback by my harshness. "You know it's not far from the truth. Perhaps you aren't seeing them now, but you have in the past. And that's a good enough excuse, don't you think?"

He groaned, but said nothing else. While the two guards in our escort took Julia back to her villa, Agrippa and I led Marcellus back to Octavia's. It was the hour just before dawn, and the only light to brush the horizon was blue-gray, like faded watercolor. When we reached the atrium with a disgruntled Marcellus in tow, we had the servants send for Octavia. She appeared moments later, strands of hair flying into her face. "What has happened?" she demanded, and the stirring of other footsteps in the corridors told me that more people were coming to watch. Sure enough, Selene and Alexander appeared, with Octavia's daughters in tow.

"We found him at the Circus," Agrippa said stiffly. "In the _fornices_."

Octavia's hand flew to her mouth.

"It's not what you think!" Marcellus protested, but his mother was completely aghast.

Octavian appeared then, arms behind his back, eyes carefully trained on Marcellus like a preying hawk. "So then what were you doing?" he said menacingly. "Not writing acta, I hope?"

Marcellus regarded this comment in shock. "Is that what this is about? You think I'm the Red Eagle? Because I leave at night to visit a few _lupae_ , you think I'm a traitor?"

Octavia looked beside herself. "You were visiting dirty lupae?" she shrieked.

Vitruvius, her lover and mentor to Selene, rested a placating hand on her shoulder. "Every boy has been there," he reminded her.

Octavian shouted at him. "Not the heir of Rome!" At length, he ordered me to search Marcellus' room. I did so without pause. There was nothing of any interest of course, and certainly not anything that could implicate Marcellus. When I returned, I wiped my hands on my tunic.

"What did you find?" Octavian demanded of me.

"Just a few lewd paintings," I admitted.

"I told you!" Marcellus cried. "You've seen my work in the _ludus_. Do you think I could really be responsible for the acta? I don't have the patience!"

Octavian paused, considering this. "Perhaps you are too secure in the belief that you will be my heir. Remember, Marcellus," he warned. "I loved Fidelius as well." I thought of the young soldier he'd slaughtered on the outskirts of Rome, solely because he thought the boy might someday come to challenge his rule. Then I watched him turn to his sister. "Keep a better watch on your child."

And that was that. Octavian departed for the night, and everyone else began to trickle away into their rooms, yawning and whispering about what had happened. Octavia chastised Marcellus as she ushered him away; the disappointment in her voice was heavy as stone. Selene's eyes met mine, and I saw the pain etched into her face. I wondered what she thought of Marcellus now that she thought he'd been seeing prostitutes. If she only knew that he'd been meeting with Julia…perhaps she'd put her affections for him away, and turn them towards someone else instead…

A sharp, agonized cry made everyone pause. Gallia came staggering into the hall, gasping for breath with her hand clutching at her side. I ran to her, my cloak whipping behind me. She wept before me, and I knew what had happened before she could even speak.

"They've taken Verrius."

She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. "What has he done? Was it something he taught?"

"No," Marcellus said, his voice angry. "There's information that the Red Eagle looks like a Gaul, but they haven't found him yet. So now anyone with light hair is suspect."

Gallia turned a fearful gaze on Octavia, who nodded. "It's true," she murmured. "My brother was here, searching Marcellus' chamber."

"His own nephew?" Gallia gasped, and then she began to cry.

"I leaned close to her. "I shall bring him back to you," I whispered. I briefly touched her shoulder before leaving the villa. My footsteps were quick and angry as I made my way to the Carcer, the prison of Rome that lay nestled at the base of Capitoline Hill. It was one thing to search Verrius's home, but it was another to take him prisoner. I was furious, and I would see to it that he was released at once.

"Where is Magister Verrius?" I demanded of the guards upon my arrival, flinging back my hood with one agitated hand.

"Juba?" the guards scrambled forward. "We have searched his home on Octavian's orders, and—"

"And?" I demanded coldly. "Tell me — what did you find? Acta? Slave routes? What? I'm _fascinated_ to hear what evidence might have led to his incarceration."

The guard paled. He was a robust man, but I was taller and stronger, and had the practiced hand of an assassin. "Nothing, sir."

"Nothing," I mocked. "And what did Octavian command you to do should you find _nothing_?"

"To set him free."

"I _see_. In that case, can you tell me why he's _still_ here?" The guards exchanged nervous glances with one another. I had the lingering suspicion that perhaps they'd wished to torture the confession out of Verrius, if only to appease Caesar and put an end to the search for the Red Eagle. Why else would he be imprisoned during the simple search and seizure of his residence. "No? You can't say? Then I suggest you release him at once. You and I both know that there is no justifiable reason to keep him here." I glared at everyone in the vicinity until Verrius was finally brought to me. I almost broke something when I saw the shackles around his wrist, neck, and ankles. A magister, chained like cattle over some mere suspicion? "You must be joking," I snarled. I almost wrenched the key from the guard's hands, but forced myself to wait with my arms folded across my chest. When the last of the iron grips clanged to the floor, and Verrius rubbed his bruised wrists, I hurried him outside.

"Are you hurt?" I demanded, anxiously studying his face for signs of mistreatment.

"I am fine," he promised.

But I was not placated. "They did not beat you?"

"No. They were rough and shoved me around, but that was the extent of it."

"So what happened?" I demanded. "Why did they take you?"

"I've no idea," Verrius said with a frown. "They came not long ago, and I allowed them to enter my villa. They searched my belongings, and every chamber — but when they were finished, they simply chained me and brought me to the Carcer. They never said why I was brought there, only that it was for my own good."

"Bastards," I hissed. "They had no right."

"They're desperate," Verrius reminded. "And so is Caesar. Everyone wishes to see the Red Eagle caught and crucified."

I snorted. "Well, they could start by _not_ chaining up innocent men and dragging them to prison! Just _imagine_ the possibilities if they actually used their brains for once." I dove one hand through my dark hair, struggling to calm myself. My eyes closed, and I kept them shut for a long moment before blinking them open again. "Ah. I apologize. I do not mean to be so angry…I just did not expect to see you incarcerated, my friend." I managed a thin smile. "Now come with me. Gallia is waiting for you."

His eyes brightened as I led him back to the Palatine. While we walked, I discussed what had happened that evening: Agrippa's decision to not expose Julia, the semi-fabricated ruse that Marcellus had been regularly visiting the _fornices,_ , and Octavian's seemingly willingness to accept his heir's word. We were passing my villa when I noticed that Octavian strolling across the lawns, heading straight for my door. He stopped when he saw me with Verrius.

"Juba?" he sounded surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. "And Magister Verrius."

"Good evening, Caesar." I dipped my head. "We come from the Carcer. The guards have searched every corner of Verrius's chamber but have found nothing."

"Have they?" Octavian's frozen eyes passed over Verrius. "No acta, no extra ink bottles and parchment? No bow and arrow?"

"None at all," I said.

Octavian studied me. "I trust you, Juba, so I want to ask you a question. Do you honestly believe this man could be the Red Eagle?"

There was a long pause, and the silence brought in the distant sounds of a waking Rome. Then I spoke my words slowly and carefully. "I believe Verrius is an honest man, and a fine teacher. He has dedicated his time and efforts into educating not only the children of the Palatine, but the children of Caesar himself. His interests are in teaching, not in slaves and politics. He is no more the Red Eagle than I am."

Octavian nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. "Very well. I trust your word, and for now I suppose I will put my suspicions to rest. But should any other information point to you, Verrius, I shall see that proper measures are taken." The danger in his eyes made Verrius very still, and even I nearly blanched at the threat. "Now come. There is something I wish to discuss with you and your villa. Privately," he added pointedly.

I glanced at Verrius. "Wait for me," I said, and then I stepped inside my home with Octavian at my side. Sergius came to the door to seat us, bringing with him an assortment of goat cheeses and pomegranate wine. But Octavian did not eat or drink. As I looked at him, the lantern light was able to show me what I'd missed outside in the darkness; Octavian's eyes were wide with excitement, his skin flushed with color. He looked ten years younger; any frailty that suggested his older age had vanished.

"Juba," he began. "Do you recall a plan I mentioned to you long ago? The one regarding my resignation from the Senate."

"Of course," I said briskly. "Upon your humble resignation, the Senate would descend into a panic. They fear a civil war, and _you_ are the only one who can keep the plebeians and patricians content. You have rebuilt Rome from the ground up, and put an end to the threat of Marc Antony. You are the cornerstone of this great city. They _need_ you, and so they will do anything in their power to keep you in their circle." I paused. "Which is why it's likely they will barter, and present you with more power than you already have. This will ensure that you remain in the best interests of Rome, and of their livelihoods."

Octavian's eyes were luminous. "And what power do you think that will be?"

I considered this. "Only the role of emperor is higher than that of Caesar," I said cautiously. "They will attempt to sway you with gold, land, authority — anything that will keep you from resigning from office. And who better to step up and take the reigns of a Roman Empire than you?"

Octavian looked immensely pleased with my calculations. He rose to his feet, leaving the pomegranate wine untouched. "Tomorrow morning, Juba, we will set the plan into motion. I will stand before the Senate and announce my resignation. We might pay off a few Senators — Seneca, I am thinking — who can come to my defense. And when they are reminded of my importance within the house of Rome, I am certain they will grant me the title of emperor." He went to the door, then paused to glance back at me. His gray eyes were soft. "You have been loyal to me all these years, Juba. And you have saved my life countless times. I have not forgotten. As I rise to power, do not think I will reward you in return."

"I expect nothing," I said, hoping my voice sounded sincere. "Like Agrippa, I am merely here to assist you in any way that I can."

He surprised me with a small smile. "Which is why I trust the two of you above anyone." He nodded at Sergius, thanked him for the wine despite not indulging in a single sip, and made his way to his villa to make further preparations. I followed him outside, where Verrius was waiting to hear what had happened. When I told him, his eyes widened in shock.

"You honestly think that will work?" he said incredulously. "I know Octavian is indispensable, but to make him _emperor?_ "

I nodded. "He is crucial to Rome's future. I see why not." We discussed Octavian in undertones on our way back to Octavia's villa to meet with Gallia. She was surrounded by Octavia, Marcellus, Selene, and Alexander. Her thin figure was slumped in a chair, her face buried in her hands. But at the sound of our footsteps, she looked up. When she saw Verrius, she sprang from her seat and flung her arms around his neck.

"Verrius!" she cried.

"He wasn't there long," I assured her. "The soldiers searched his rooms and didn't find anything."

"Of course they didn't!" Gallia's voice was a menacing snarl. But when she turned to Verrius and brought her palm to his face, she asked gently, "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing," Verrius told her, and he kissed her forehead as he always did. "Juba arrived and got me out of there before anything could happen."

Gallia turned to me now, and her eyes were swelling with tears. "Thank you, Juba—"

But Octavia cut her off. "So nothing was found tonight," she said angrily. "Not here, not in the ludus, and not in Magister Verrius's home."

She was impatient, I knew, but I kept my voice level. "Those were my orders."

"And what have you been _ordered_ to do next?"

I laced my long fingers and raised my chin in a purposeful manner as I said, "Inform you that Octavian is resigning from office."

* * *

 _Note:_

Some key terms I may have forgotten to mention:

 **ludus.** School, but also used to refer to public games.

 **fornice(s).** Archways or vaults. Roman prostitutes' habit of soliciting in archways leaves it trace in the word "fornicate."

 **lupa.** She-wolf. A derogatory term for prostitute. The plural is lupae.

 **actum.** Official records, as of acts, deeds, proceedings, etc. The plural is acta.

 **denarii.** Romain coins/currency.

 **hetaera.** A courtesan or mistress, especially one in ancient Greece akin to the modern geisha.


	21. War

**War**

* * *

The morning dawned clear and cloudless as Octavian led us to the marble steps of the Senate. Thousands of people came from all across Rome, flooding the streets to see why Caesar had sworn to relinquish his authority. It was sheer madness, and the swelling crowds made it difficult for the Praetorian Guard to escort us through the twisting avenues. Men wore faces of disbelief, shouting amongst themselves to be heard, while women wept hysterically, clutching at their chests. Selene looked troubled, and I wondered if she was fretting about the fate of her and her brother. She needn't have worried, however; this was all just a show, a spectacle orchestrated in the theater of Octavian's political games. He would no sooner resign than compete in a charioteer race.

Octavian had dressed himself in a plain white toga that looked as though it belonged to any commoner — a simple way to look humble before his waiting audience. We followed him into the courtyard, where a row of waterfalls streamed into garlanded pools, and then took our seats before the rising tiers of senators. I stood on his right, Agrippa at his left. When Octavian rose to speak, the Senate plunged into a frenzy, shouting and cursing and pleading with him to keep his post. They were no better than animals, but they were desperate to prevent Octavian's resignation. That much was clear.

"It is time for me to give up the reigns of power and return the Republic to the citizens of Rome," Octavian announced, and the entire courtyard plummeted into absolute turmoil. Even the sound of the rushing waterfalls was lost over the clamor. No one but Octavian's inner circle knew that this was a ploy, and that it was being played rather well.

I watched through narrowed eyes as Octavian spread his arms wide and continued, "Having done what I can for Rome, I now lay down my office in its entirety. To you, the esteemed senators of Rome, I return authority over the army, the laws, and the provinces. You are free to govern not just those territories which you entrusted to me, but also those which I have fought and won from you."

At length, Seneca stood, and I wondered if the gold I'd given him earlier was tucked away into his pockets.

"This is not acceptable!" he cried, his eyes blazing with a sense of urgency. "You fought against Antony, you crushed the kingdom of Egypt, you rebuilt our city and sent forces to police our dangerous hills. You took a republic in chaos and made it into an empire, and we will _never_ allow you to resign!" He flung his fist into the air amid shouts of approval. What a fine actor.

One senator shouted, "Let us take a vote!"

Octavian acquiesced with a simple raise of his hands. "Then I submit my departure to you," he said graciously, but only I was able to catch the light smugness in his tone.

Seneca's eyes traveled around the chamber. "We are voting on the future of Rome," he said passionately. "There is not a man here who doesn't know what Octavian has done for this city, for this empire, for _all_ of you! Do you want to return to the days of anarchy? The days of civil war?" His queries sent a great stirring within the Senate, and it took a moment for the voices to die down. "Octavian is not another Julius Caesar. He is something different. _This_ is something different. We can share power, and for the first time in the history of Rome, create a joint way of ruling. So let us give him a name in honor of his difference, of his victories, and his sacrifices to build a better Rome. Let us call Gaius Octavius…Augustus."

And that was that. A roar of approval resounded through the courtyard as the senators rose to their feet in unison, hailing the newly named Augustus as emperor of Rome. He had done it, had swayed the senate with one simple, underhanded plot, and now he had more power than any Roman figurehead had ever known. The senators called out their support as Augustus was given the provinces of Syria, Iberia, and Gaul for ten years. Egypt still belonged to him, in addition to almost twenty legions already at his command. However, the smaller provinces and legions would be governed by the Senate, who would then choose their praetors to oversee them. It was a minuscule trade compared to the wealth and authority now at Augustus's fingertips.

A celebratory feast was to be held that afternoon at Octavia's villa. Even from my own home I could see the preparations underway; servants carrying numerous baskets of exotic foods, bins of extra crystal, barrels of the finest wines. I usually shrugged off putting more effort than necessary into looking presentable throwing on my usual short red cloak and nondescript leather sandals — but Gallia convinced me to dress well.

I gave a wry chuckle. "Is there a reason?"

"Selene will be there, obviously," she said smoothly, and that shut me right up. "And I am to be her _ornatrix_ this evening, so you can imagine what she might look like…" I am almost certain I flushed. Her laugh was bright and good-natured, chiming like bells before she took her leave.

Grudgingly, I put on a fine tunic of Egyptian cotton trimmed with gold. I slung my usual red cloak over my shoulder for the cold, but took to donning the expensive boar's hide boots I'd been gifted during my fifteenth year. I even ran a bit of olive oil through my hair with my fingers, glossing the black strands. Sergius was chuckling at me, and I gave a sheepish shrug and laughed, "What? I'm a prince, Selene's a princess. I'm supposed to look the part, right?"

"Of course." His eyes were glowing with pride. "And you do it well, Domine."

When I reached Octavia's _triclinium,_ Gallia took one look at me and hummed with approval. "Very nice," she said with a sly smile, her eyes traveling from the glossiness of my wavy black hair to my fine boots. "Why don't you go talk to Selene? And _try_ to be civil, won't you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I will if she is. Where is she, anyway?"

"By the _impluvium_ with her brother."

Suddenly nervous, I followed Gallia's sharp, blue-eyed gaze. Selene was talking with Alexander near the shallow courtyard pool, her slim figure draped in a stunning indigo _stola_. Gallia had tied Selene's beautiful curls back into a bun, and the light caught the pearl-tipped pins that kept it in place. Malachite swept a bit of glimmering color along her eyes, and even her ears were studded with pearls. I felt a swooping feeling in my stomach then, as if I had plunged from some great height. My, she looked lovely this evening. I wanted to talk to her, but what was there to say that wouldn't end in the usual hostilities? I hadn't the faintest clue. Regardless, my feet started walking towards her on their own accord, although I can't say I felt them, for my entire body had grown numb with anticipation. I glanced at Gallia over my shoulder, my eyebrows furrowed, but I was met with only an encouraging nod. But then, the worst happened. Marcellus came forward to compliment Selene on her earrings, and I knew I'd lost my chance. Her cheeks flushed pink, and I quickly backtracked, the jealousy burning deep within my chest.

"Next time," Gallia whispered to me under my breath, but I clenched my teeth and said nothing.

Dinner was an excited affair, as everyone raised their glasses and congratulated Augustus on his success. Patricians indulged in Falernian wine and the freshest oysters brought in from Ostia. Octavia's eyes shown with adoration for her brother, and even Livia seemed friendlier than usual. Selene sat with her brother and their new acquaintance — Livius, the architect Vitruvius's son. It was Marcellus who poured her wine, and who laughed with her and Julia. There was a split moment when I almost wished I had never become Augustus's confidant — that I had never been there that day in Egypt, dragging Selene and her brother away from their home. Perhaps, if things had been differently, she might have come to like me. But I was no better than Augustus in her eyes. It stung me, but I ate heartily and laughed along with everyone else to disguise the pain. Years of deception as the Red Eagle had made hiding my emotions almost effortless. It was easy, like putting on a mask…

* * *

The following morning, Augustus announced that we were going to war. I wasn't surprised; now that he was emperor, there was the matter of new conquests, of imposing his authority over the smaller states that might refuse to show deference. He was to lead us to Gaul, where we would crush the stirring of a rebellion. I was to be there, of course — Octavian wouldn't have it any other way. But Tiberius and Marcellus would also be present. Agrippa would remain behind to oversee Rome, and I could tell that his timid wife, Claudia, was very much happy about this.

My thoughts were relatively calm as I prepared myself for what would likely be a two-year long journey. I stuffed my satchels with an assortment of things — scrolls, pens, ink, extra leather boots and tunics, and plenty of _denarii._ When it came time to put on my armor, I had Sergius assist me. First came a tunic of brilliant red, followed by a heavy iron cuirass and a _balteus_ belt made of hanging golden straps. My sandals were thick, studded with hobnails and laced to the tops of my calves. I tucked my sword and dagger neatly into their sheathes, swung my bow and arrows over my back, laced leather bracers on my wrists. Then, at last, I stood before the mirror and placed my heavy iron helm over my head, squashing the waves of my dark hair. The red tuft of horsehair would be a vivid beacon amongst the battlefield, the mark of a Roman imperial soldier.

Sergius was fastening the heavy scarlet cloak to my cuirass when there was a knock at the door. He left, reappearing moments later with Gallia and Verrius. Verrius's face was somber, and Gallia looked as though she were struggling with a great deal of stress.

"I look ridiculous, don't I?" I joked. "Go on, be honest."

"Juba—" she began concernedly.

"I'll be fine," I assured her. "I probably won't see much fighting, you know. Augustus is not known to tackle a sword, and he'll want me at his side at all times." I was suddenly aware of how tall I was; everyone was looking up at me, at my tufted red helmet and glinting armor.

But Gallia didn't look convinced. "But what about sickness? Disease? Assassins!"

"Assassins I can handle," I said easily. "As for disease, there's not much I can do about that. Octavian will see that those sick are quarantined. And I'm sure he'll send me or anyone else of importance back to Rome for precaution."

"He'll be fine, Gallia," Verrius promised. "This is the _Red Eagle_ you're talking to." He shot an amused glance in my direction, and we both smirked. "In the meantime, Gallia, we will concern ourselves with posting acta."

"You have my thanks." I inclined my head politely.

Bells chimed across the Palatine, and I knew that it was time to join Augustus's procession. Sergius handed me my belongings, but there was something else I needed to do before my departure. "Just a moment, please," I said. I slipped inside my chamber and opened the heavy Cretan chest that contained my post personal belongings. I shifted aside some trinkets — old letters from my deceased brother, the ink now faded, a wooly scarf I'd brought with me on the day Numidia was conquered — and finally, I reached Selene's pearl necklace. The jewels gleamed in my palms, smooth and milky, and just as pristine as I had remembered. I brought the necklace back into the atrium, and Gallia gasped aloud when she saw it.

" _Juba!_ Is that what I think it is?"

Verrius scrutinized the item. "Selene's necklace?" he guessed, his eyes wide.

I grinned. "Yes, it is." I strode towards Gallia and offered it to her. She carefully took it with both hands, though her eyes never left my face.

"But I thought she…if it's still here…you don't mean to say that…it was _you_ who bought my freedom?"

"Certainly," I said simply. "I'd pay for your freedom a thousand times over, Gallia. But, I knew Octavia would immediately end your servitude if she thought Selene had done something so selfless. It was only a means of encouraging her. Selene offered the necklace, but I used my own _denarii_ to keep her only family relic safe."

Gallia was speechless. Verrius, too, seemed at a loss for words. I laughed lightly at the looks on their faces. "Listen," I said, still smiling. "I doubt anything will happen to me at war, but if it should—" Gallia's face paled between the curtains of her long blonde hair. "—I would like you to give this to Selene."

"Of course," Gallia promised, but the shock had not yet faded from her face. "But if what you say is _true_ , Juba, and you'll return home safe, I should hope _I_ won't be the one to give this to her." She raised her chin as if it were a challenge. "It had better be you, do you understand?"

"Don't worry," I said. "If all goes well, _I_ will be the one to watch the princess die from shock when she sees the necklace again."

Gallia stared at me with a look of deep unease. Regardless, she and Verrius followed me outside into the watery morning light. A short walk down the sprawling lawns brought us to the base of the Palatine, where an enormous crowd had gathered. Everyone from plebeians to senators to noblemen were present, eager to see off the new emperor. I tried not to feel wistful as goodbyes were said all around me. Soldiers kissed their wives farewell, Octavia hugged her brother tight, and Marcellus wiped the tears from Julia's eyes. He embraced her for a long moment before moving towards Selene. They were so close that their chests were almost touching, and I couldn't help but notice the longing and heartbreak that was in her eyes as she said goodbye.

"What, no tears?" I taunted. "He's about to fight the _fearsome_ Gauls and Cantabri." It was a petty thing to say, I admit. But I was hurting, and in my bitterness I couldn't help but goad her.

"Isis will watch over him," Selene said firmly. She didn't even glance at me, even as I taunted her she only had eyes for Marcellus.

"Perhaps she can use her wings to fly us to Gaul," Tiberius said with a snide laugh. "Then we won't have to worry about barbarians hiding in the trees along the road."

"Enough," Livia snapped, and Tiberius fell silent.

I watched Selene curiously as she stared in Marcellus's direction. I half-hoped she might have said something to me — _anything_ instead of the cold shoulder she was now turning towards me. But she was too absorbed with the fate of dear Marcellus to give me any notice. I would not see her for at least a year, and yet, I doubt she even cared. I, on the other hand, would miss her greatly. I'd miss her voice, her green eyes. I'd miss glancing over at her during dinner in the triclinium, or watching her sketch new designs with Vitruvius, or hearing her protest the mistreatment of slaves. I swallowed the bitterness that scalded my throat as I mounted my horse, light sliding off the sheen of my armor. The reaction of the crowd was almost instantaneous: women began whistling and cat-calling in my direction, lifting their skirts at their ankles. Flowers were tossed at me, and even Tiberius looked amused by the clamor.

"They're in love with you," he remarked with a laugh.

"Not all of them," I muttered, refusing to glance at Selene.

The crowds drowned out all sound as they followed our procession to the rim of the city, flinging red confetti from their hands and buffeting the streets like a swollen river. Augustus pulled his sword from its sheath and raised it high, and the roars that followed were almost deafening. He was their emperor. He would lead Rome to victory. The excitement coursing through the crowd was nearly uncontrollable; guards had to raise their shields as one to prevent the crying plebeians from rushing forward. I gripped the reins of my horse tighter as Augustus led our army through the gates of Rome and out into the wide, lush plains stretching far into the distance. Thousands of us spilled across the earth to begin a long journey to the far north.

War had begun.

* * *

The journey to Gaul was a long one, and I watched with little interest as the terrain changed with our advance; rolling hills of green yielded to deserts cracked from heat; waterlogged marshes gleaming with pools turned to mist-ridden moors, then to deep forests of cedar and pine. As we rode onwards, I could feel my legs growing sore from horseback, and my skin blistering beneath the glare of the sun. My black hair grew sweaty beneath my helmet, my fingers grew numb the longer they gripped my mount's reins. It wasn't until nightfall when Augustus finally had us make encampment in the midst of a quiet wood. I groaned with contentment as I dismounted my horse and felt the soft, mossy earth beneath my soles. Tiberius looked travel-weary as well, but that was nothing compared to Marcellus. One glance in his direction, and I wondered if he was possibly suffering from a stroke. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his skin had been burned by the midday sun.

"Juba," he rasped at me, when Augustus had walked away to speak with Livia. "I can't breathe."

"You'll live," I replied tersely.

He staggered from his mount, gripping a stitch in his side. "I've never been on a horse for so _long_."

"Clearly."

"How do you Numidians stand it?" When I shrugged, he sucked in a deep breath and proclaimed, "It's over. I'm done for. I'm going to die."

"Then hurry up and get on with it, so I won't have to listen to you complain anymore."

Tiberius cackled with laughter, and even a centurion smiled thinly at my dark humor. Feeling weary, I excused myself and led my horse to the faint whisper of running water. Beyond the undergrowth, a clear, quiet stream slipped its way through the verdant gloom, gliding over the rocks like a ribbon of glass. Desperate, I lunged towards the bank and began to wash my face, my hands, my hair. The stream was ice-cold, as if it had bubbled up from the depths of a glacier, but I found the it bracing rather than chilling. Especially after such a lengthy trek.

When I was finally refreshed, and the sweat and grime had been washed from my skin, I returned to help the other soldiers set up our temporary encampment. We raised the tents, brought out supplies of food and drink and bedding, sent guards to watch the outer perimeter. I was tired and longed for sleep, but Augustus requested that I join him and his generals for dinner. Whereas many of the lesser soldiers would eat nothing but grains and some beef rations for the entirety of the journey, the inner circle of Augustus's imperial army were graced with the finest foods. Livia had arranged it all the aged wines, the expensive cheeses we didn't even need, the roasted veal and venison. I found her chatter to be unbearable, so eventually I was forced to excuse myself and head to bed.

I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of slaves whose eyes were black and whose faces I could not see, each of them suffering without the Red Eagle to protect them. The dreams were terrible, enough to keep my heart pounding and my breath short all throughout the night. Eventually I staggered from my tent and walked to the river, thinking that the sound of water might clear my head. But it did not, and I was forced to lie awake in my tent until morning.

In the cold light of dawn, soldiers were roused to disassemble the encampment and prepare the carriages. Augustus wanted to move further north, towards the mountains tipped in ice and snow. Beyond them lay one of the larger Gaulish states. I was solemn, as I knew that we would likely encounter a fight there. But Marcellus was eager, and even Tiberius looked as though he longed for bloodshed.

A torrential downpour washed the earth that morning, but the rains did not hinder our progress. For more than a week, we crossed northern Gaul territory, encased in the chill and the wet. It came as no surprise when Augustus said that he would be leaving our army.

"I cannot risk falling ill," he explained to me. "Not while the tides of Rome continue to turn." Livia was nodding with approval, bundled up in her heaviest fur cloak, and I raised my brows at how willing she was to turn away from the harshness of war. Even the great Queen Kleopatra would have no sooner abandoned her soldiers than give herself over to the enemy.

"Where will you go?" I asked of him. "Iberia?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I think Livia and I will retire to Tarraco. Keep away from this messy rain."

"Especially since it will only grow colder," Livia added. "The mountains are heavy with snow, and you know what that will do to your health, Augustus." She shook her head. "No, we will be better off in the milder climates of Iberia."

 _We,_ I thought scathingly, but I held my tongue. "Very well," I said shortly, and for a moment Livia looked confused at my irritable tone. "Shall I prepare the carriages to take you south?"

"Yes," Octavian nodded at me. "Thank you, Juba." I turned to leave, but the sound of his voice pulled me back. "And one more thing keep an eye on Marcellus while I am away. Make sure he doesn't do anything _rash._ "

"You still do not trust him?" I surmised.

Augustus considered this for a moment. "I do," he began tentatively. "But not in the way that I trust you," he added, and I found myself thinking only of how wrong he was.

* * *

 _Note:_

Slight continuity error in an earlier chapter, Gallia was aware that Juba had kept Selene's necklace. But I thought it'd be better to have Juba reveal it to her this way. I'll go back and fix the previous chapter later.

Also it's so interesting re-reading Cleopatra's Daughter and picking up all those hints that Juba had feelings for Selene! For example, when Marcellus and everyone left for war, here's what Selene described: "I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes, and _Juba watched me curiously_ while Marcellus straddled his favorite horse." I noticed Michelle Moran mentions little things like that in the background, and I love it. Although it makes me feel bad for poor Juba.


	22. Return

**Return**

* * *

The war lasted for less than a year. And yet, it felt seemingly endless. Endless walking, fighting, shivering. The cold never seemed to let up, especially as we passed into the high, perilous mountains of Gaul. Cliffs of jagged stone and steep, dizzying chasms greeted us, and day after day our procession lumbered through drifts of powdery snow. The woods were thick and treacherous, the cedars nearly lost before curtains of fog. Rivers flowed between chunks of crusted ice, dark and glittering and too cold to drink as they sliced their way through the frozen earth. There was never a time when we weren't fighting the wind and the chill, and many men were claimed from frostbite, or from wounds they'd succumbed from battle. The highest generals, meanwhile, fought very little, and made sure most of their time was spent drinking and taking captured women to bed.

I'd been lucky so far; my fights on the Gaulish front had left me unscathed. But I would never forget those I'd been forced to kill. These men fought viciously, and mercilessly, the bloodlust casting a glaze over their dark eyes. They would mutilate my fellow soldiers with their iron long swords and strip them of their clothes, leaving their carcasses to freeze in the snow. But they were far from coordinated, and I was able to strike them down with ease.

I ought to have grown accustomed to war, and yet I grimaced every time one of my victims fell to their knees, their backs riddled with arrows, blood seeping into the snow. But what else could I do? I had to fight for Augustus to show my _loyalty_ , even if it meant slaughtering lives in a meaningless war. And amidst the cold and the carnage, I could only think about returning home to see Selene. I had sworn I would not die here, that I would be the one to give her her necklace — and that meant defending myself in every way that I could.

One morning of respite, when snow fell softly from a chilled gray sky, I crouched before a crackling brazier and tended to the horses's hooves. The firelight sputtered and hissed, and I was grateful for the warmth it washed over me. Numidians are equestrians by blood — the finest riders in all the world, I'd dare to reckon — and so naturally, I'd wandered off to the stables on my own accord. The horsemaster had allowed me to tend to the steeds, and so I'd spent the frosty morning with them, letting their dark eyes soothe me and thinking of a time when I'd finally be free of all this snow and cold. My own Arabian steed was glad to see me, plodding forward and twitching his ears gratefully when I brought my hand to his muzzle. I'd just finished checking his hooves for abscesses when there came the sound of footsteps in the snow. I looked up to see Marcellus striding towards me, a letter in hand. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"There is news, Juba!" he cried.

I shook snow from my hair and stood. "Good or bad?"

"Good!" he cheered. "Well, for us at least."

"Do tell."

He rolled his eyes at my tone, but the excitement got the better of him, and he blurted out, "Augustus just sent word — he wants you, me, Tiberius, and half the soldiers to return to Rome!"

I was stunned, but the relief that washed over me was as warm as the fire. "And the other half?"

"The rest will stay to fight the remaining Gauls in Cantabria." Marcellus looked beside himself with joy. "But the war is pretty much over, and we're _leaving_ , Juba. We get to escape this terrible place." He rubbed his shoulders from the cold, and flakes of ice came tumbling from his cloak. "And I get to see Julia again."

"I'll speak with the generals," I said at once. "And we will make preparations immediately."

It had been nearly nine months since I had last seen Rome; my heart raced as I went into my tent to gather my belongings, haphazardly flinging items into satchels without a care. I wondered what might have changed in my absence. Would Verrius or Gallia have posted acta under the Red Eagle's name? Had the senators brought any changes or improvements to the plebeians squalor? My thoughts were racing, quick as river water. I thought of Selene, wondering if she'd grown in my absence. I was certain her eyes would remain the same, but what about her height, and her hair? I was eager to look upon her face again — not to mention escape the bitter northern cold — so I hurried around the tent on light feet, packing as quickly as I could.

We left for Rome in the early hours of the morning. I felt adrenaline ripple beneath my skin as I led my horse onwards, across the sprawl of frozen earth and far, far away from the forbidding mountains we had known for a year. Marcellus's eyes glimmered with triumph, and even Tiberius seemed to swell with pride. Our progress stopped along a moor later that night, and I laughed along with them for once, as we drank wine and ate heartily before a warm fire.

* * *

Our journey took two months, and by that time my patience had finally begun to wane. We were slowed by a number of things — we'd needed to stop at villages to replenish our diminishing rations, and several wheels on the heaviest carriages had needed repair — but it was not before long that we were on the move again. I noticed the climate growing warmer and warmer, the rocky crags transitioning into lowland hills. Roman buildings began to crop up here and there along the trodden roads, and I grinned at the sight of familiar architecture. We stopped at many inns along the way, much to Marcellus's insistence. It wasn't until I scolded him for wasting everyone's time that we finally set out again.

At length, we finally came within sight of Rome. I had never been so happy to see the city in my life — everything from the crude marble buildings to the Tiber River snaking its way into the distance. Even the sight of lewd graffiti made me smile. The men cheered and raised their swords, and suddenly we were bounding along the grassy knolls, the wind at our hair and cloaks. Cries of tremendous joy rose up as the people realized what was happening; the streets began to overflow as everyone came to welcome their soldiers home. When we finally reached the Palatine, I dismounted my horse and looked breathlessly around for the girl I so desperately wanted to see.

Marcellus reached her first. He'd hugged his mother and sisters, then went to Princess Selene with open arms. She could not have looked happier when they embraced. I watched her eyes close with contentment, and then I heard him say, "Look at you. A woman now."

He was right; she was taller and fuller, and her hair tumbled down her back in a mass of silken curls. She was more than beautiful, she was the very center of my universe. And standing before her now, I realized just how madly I was in love with her. Her eyes were like Nile waters, cool and green. Her skin was a deeper shade of bronze, too, and I wondered if she'd been spending time in the sun. Sketching, perhaps? Or maybe she'd been frequenting the Tiber River with her brother, free to swim while Livia was away. In any case, I couldn't believe how lovely she looked, draped in an olive-green stola that accentuated her breasts and willowy frame. Even Tiberius, who I'd long suspected had feelings for the princess, was watching her with a rapt gaze.

Selene was blushing at Marcellus's words. "Eleven months is a long time to be gone," she said earnestly. "You've changed as well."

"Really?"

Antonia piped up, "Of course! Don't you see it? Your hair is longer."

"And your feet are bigger!" Tonia exclaimed.

Marcellus smiled at his sisters. "Well, if you think I've grown, you should see Tiberius."

Tiberius and I had been hovering around the entryway, but now my companion walked forward, and I tentatively trailed behind him. It was ridiculous, but I suddenly felt terribly self-conscious of my appearance. My dark hair had grown long and unruly, windblown as usual. My muscles had become lean and hardened, carrying the strength of an archer and cavalryman. And I was almost certain I'd grown paler, too, for the snowy skies of Gaul had left little sunlight to warm my skin. But if I'd changed in the span of nine months, no one seemed to notice. Not even Selene, although I noticed her looking curiously up at the red plumage of my helmet as I towered over her. I barely had a moment to speak before Julia came bounding into the room. She flung herself into Marcellus's arms, and everyone watched as he kissed her cheek.

Almost immediately, Selene's expression turned to one of envy. "Already the happy reunion," I said quietly, watching her and wishing more than anything that I could sweep her off her feet and into my arms. By the gods, I wanted nothing more. It was torture having to stand off to the side and treat her with such feigned indifference.

Octavia stepped towards me, beaming. "Juba! And Tiberius." She nodded delightedly in his direction. "But why didn't anyone warn us of your coming?"

"We thought it should be a surprise," Marcellus said, still holding Julia in his arms. "So was it?"

His mother's eyes filled with tears. "Yes."

"We won't have to go to the ludus today, will we?" Julia pleaded.

Octavia laughed. "No. Today will be a day of celebration!" She turned to a pretty servant with dark almond eyes and said, "Faustina, let Magister Verrius know there will be no ludus today. And invite him to a feast tonight."

Selene looked concerned. "But what about the trial?" she asked, and I tilted my head to one side curiously.

Marcellus glanced around the group. "What trial?"

I stared at Octavia in disbelief, feeling ill at ease as she explained what had happened in my absence; a man by the name of Aquila was attempting to claim the daughter of a centurion as his own slave. He alleged that the girl had been stolen from him when she was a child, even though numerous witnesses — the girl's family included — swore that she had been born to them. Despicable. No judice could be so daft as to think that Aquila was telling the truth; but I knew Rome, I knew its taste for corruption, its lust for gold, and I would not be surprised if the jury had already been paid off.

Selene looked frantic, but Marcellus was hesitant. "I was rather hoping to spend some time at home…"

"And we can send a slave to hear the verdict," Julia said simply.

"But you were the one who suggested going!" Selene exclaimed, her voice rising in desperation. "Aren't you interested in what happens to her?"

Julia waved her hand. "Sure, but Marcellus just returned, Selene. He's tired. And probably hungry."

"Starving," Marcellus groaned.

There was a long moment when Selene stared at the two of them in incredulity, and I was wondering if she was looking at Marcellus in a different light. _About time,_ I thought impatiently. Could she really be bothered with an heir who would rather eat and dine than concern himself with the fate of someone's life?

"I'll go with you," Alexander told Selene. He tugged at her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm happy to go as well," Lucius said.

"Not by yourselves," Vitruvius warned.

"I'll take them," I said at once.

"But you've only just returned," Octavia protested. "Aren't you tired?" Her eyes searched my face, as if she might find exhaustion there.

"Perhaps if we hadn't stopped at every inn along the way," I said shrewdly, stealing a glance at Marcellus. "I would be more road-weary. As it is, I feel quite rested. Besides, the princess seems to have a soft spot for slaves, and I'm interested to see which victim has inflamed her sympathy this time." It wasn't a lie; I wanted to be near Selene, and I wanted to see the trial for myself. It was outrageous that such an injustice was even being considered by the judices. How could a man have the audacity to even state such a bold claim, especially while standing before the girl's parents? My presence there certainly wouldn't sway the verdict — especially if the judices had been bought — but I wanted to be there nonetheless.

I watched with amusement as Selene crossed her arms, clearly annoyed that I was the one to accompany them.

"Then you must be careful," Octavia warned. "The plebs are extremely angry about this."

Selene's shoulders sank, and her voice was tiny as she asked, "You aren't coming?"

Octavia shifted uncomfortably, playing with the gold bangle at her wrist. "I believe I will spend the day with Marcellus," she said, and Selene had to turn her head away to hide her disappointment.

The idea of the trial was incredibly morose, and though I worried about the fate of the centurion's daughter, I could not help but feel weightlessly happy as I walked alongside Selene. This was the closest I had been to her in years. Alexander, too, had changed during my absence — he was as bronze as his sister, with handsome gold eyes shining from a frame of dark curls. I noticed Lucius would not take his eyes off of him — just as I couldn't look away from Selene.

"So are the Gauls as barbaric as they say?" Lucius asked of me, as the busy, rain-washed Roman streets unfolded before us. I gazed around, warmed by the familiarity of it all: tall, slender women balancing baskets on their heads, dark skin glimmering beneath the sun; vendors sitting in their shaded stalls, selling everything from figs to _ofellae_ to almonds glazed in sugar; bathhouse owners calling out at the passerby, inviting them to try the steamy warmth of a thermal pool. It was all so rich and alive and enticing, especially after the bleak cold of Gaulish territory. I was so absorbed with my surroundings that Lucius had to repeat the question. "Are the Gauls barbaric?" he asked again.

"Look around," I nodded at the blondes we passed on the streets. "Half of Rome is filled with them."

"But in their native lands, do they really feast on men's flesh and walk naked through the woods?"

Well. Talk about your misinformation. "Not what I've seen," I said calmly.

Alexander looked up at me in wonder. "But their horses are finer than anything in Rome. That's true, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, and I was impressed with his knowledge. "They train them better, and the steeds seem to be of better quality. You know, their goddess Epona is a horse."

"I notice you don't make fun of that," Selene said.

I smiled at her animosity. "That's because _everyone_ knows the Gauls are barbarians. The Egyptians, on the other hand, are reputed to be fine thinkers."

She glowered at me, but Lucius said, "And was the weather as terrible as Augustus wrote? Octavia read us letters that talked of snow falling for weeks."

I thought of the drifting chill that swept the high mountains, and the ice that had crusted the men's hair and beards in the mornings. I remembered how difficult it was for me to cross the snowbound fields with such long, gangly legs. I could still hear the sounds of splintering ice from the frozen lakes, the clash of heavy shields against flesh, the stifled sobs as Tiberius often cried himself to sleep. There was much I could not forget. The way my frigid hands gripped a mug of mulled spice on particularly cold nights, when some men froze to death and did not live to see the morning. The way the life faded from soldier's eyes, glazing over into nothingness as they succumbed to their wounds. The splash of crimson on snow when I shot an enemy down with my arrow. There was much to say, but I didn't know how to say it.

"The Gallic mountains are forbidding," I said quietly. "Hundreds of soldiers died, and many more would have followed if the rebellion had lasted. Wounds that may be survivable in the summer drain the body differently in winter."

"So how did Augustus survive it?" Selene asked.

"He left after a month of rain."

She was speechless. "He left?" Alexander repeated in disbelief. "Where?"

"The northeast of Iberia at a place called Tarraco. And I suspect that's where he'll remain until his generals finish the Cantabrian war."

"Then he isn't fighting?" Alexander looked defiant.

"No," I said simply. "Augustus was not built for warfare."

Alexander and Selene exchanged glances, and I wondered if they were thinking about their parents. It went without saying that Marc Antony — in all his courage and tenacity — would have never abandoned his soldiers at war. Like Kleopatra, he would have fought until the end, until the dying breath of the last enemy. But Augustus was a different man. He was man of sharp intellect, but his physical health consistently suffered.

A great commotion stirred the Forum as we arrived. I stared into the dark, angry eyes of the plebeians as we took our seats. "So this is it," I said. "The latest trial to stir up the passion of the plebs and Princess Selene."

I meant for my comment to be light-hearted, but Selene didn't seem to take it that way. She completely ignored me, watching as the judices entered the room. I let my eyes rove around the room, taking in the scene. The centurion's daughter — Tullia, as I later learned — sat with her fingers laced anxiously in her lap, her face streaked with tears. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her honey-colored hair flecked with rain, and it didn't take a fool to realize why Aquila was attempting to claim her. What sort of horrors did he intend to inflict on her, should he get his way? I flinched at the very thought.

"Do you think it's funny now?" Selene demanded of me.

This time, my voice was cold when I turned to her. "You mistake me," I retorted. "This has never been funny. Just a sad, short spectacle of human injustice like most other trials this courtyard has witnessed."

She regarded me, and for once she looked curious. "Then you hope she will go free?"

"If what Octavia has told me about the trial is true, then yes. I am sorry if this disappoints you," I added irritably. "I know how you cherish the thought that I'm indifferent to human suffering."

The time had come from the lawyers to make their final pleas. Tullia's lawyer took the podium and begged for sanity, for reason. "You have heard it straight from her mother and her father — as well as a dozen slaves who witnessed her birth. Tullia was _never_ owned by Aquila — it is a false claim in an attempt to destroy this young woman's livelihood. He is lying like a dog — she was _never_ stolen from him as an infant. She has spent the last fifteen years of her life with her mother and father. How can you look upon her and rob her of her family, her freedom?" The plebeians roared along with them, and it was clear that their support for Tullia was overwhelming. But the eyes of the judices spoke plenty; there was gold in their pockets, and so they would vote in favor of Aquila.

Disgusted, I watched as judex after judex rise and proclaim, "Aquila."

"What does it mean?" Selene whispered in horror.

"They are voting in favor of the banker," I explained, "and we are about to witness what plebeian rage looks like."

The judices continued to stand and announce for Aquila, and the rage that spilled over the crowds was uncontrollable. Guards tensed, clutching at their weaponry as the people screamed insults and flung objects into the courtyard.

"Perhaps we should leave," Selene whispered, looking uneasy.

" _Some_ of them have to find in favor of Tullia!" Alexander protested, and I shook my head at his naivete. "They can't _all_ be bought!"

But the final judex stood. "Aquila," the old man proclaimed. There was a split moment of silence. Then Tullia bounded past the rostrum and into her father's arms. For a moment, I thought the centurion was going to embrace her, let her weep on his shoulder. But instead the girl fell to her knees and wrenched her tunic back, exposing the smoothness of her neck. It happened so quickly that even the guards were taken by surprise: the centurion drew a knife from his cloak and plunged it deep into his daughter's throat, crying as he did so. Tullia did not scream, or even struggle. She simply held on to her father's trembling hands while she slumped to the ground, heaving as her lungs filled with blood.

* * *

 _Note:_

Sorry to leave at a cliffhanger! The next chapter is almost finished and will be up soon.

Also, I didn't realize how large of a part Juba played around the end of the novel. He's in almost every chapter haha. I feel like I have a lot to write about, even with only about 150 pages left of Cleopatra's Daughter.


	23. Advice

**Advice**

* * *

I almost shouted out my anguish. I simply could not believe my eyes. The centurion had actually killed his own daughter in an attempt to save her from a lifetime of slavery and rape. Blood pooled on the floor as Tullia lay dying, but her labored chokes were drowned out in the outraged roars of the plebeians. I had never seen them so angry; I, too, was furious, and my white knuckles gripped the railing as I stared desperately into the courtyard. Pandemonium had broken out; marble statues were shattered, stones and glass shards were flung through the air. Aquila's lawyers quickly rushed him from the scene, while the wife of the centurion collapsed to the floor, screaming her daughter's name. As people stormed the Forum, I grasped Selene's arm. She stared at me with terror in her eyes.

"Move!" I shouted urgently, guiding her forward as Alexander and Lucius followed anxiously behind us. "Move, now!" Embers showered my cloak as plebeians set fire to anything within sight. We were buffeted by walls of angry people, but I cut a path by shoving them hastily to the side. At one point Alexander tripped and fell, sprawling himself in the dirt. Selene screamed, but I was quick, helping him to his feet before he could be trampled to death.

Octavia was waiting for us at the Palatine. She stood with us on Augustus's platform with tears in her eyes, watching as heavy fires billowed from the streets, mere pinpricks of spiraling light in the distance. Smoke blackened the air, and I held my breath as the night sky deepened to red. The people were rioting; they would not stand for Tullia's unnecessary death. I could hear their shouts rising out amongst the clamor, and I could only imagine the hell they would unleash upon Rome.

"They're burning their livelihoods," Tiberius scolded.

"They don't care," Selene said. Finally, someone who could speak sense. "They're sending a message to the Senate."

"And what is that?" Tiberius rounded on her. "That the plebs can't be trusted to watch an open trial? That from now on, trials should be held in secret?" He had a point, as much as I hated to admit it.

Julia's voice was a whisper. "She was alive…Just yesterday, she was alive."

I felt Agrippa tense at my side; his expression was absolutely murderous, and I knew he was thinking of his own daughter, Vipsania. No father should ever have to kill his daughter to protect her from something so despicably unjust. "I should have gone today," he said fiercely.

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Vitruvius said heavily. "The judices were bought."

There was a moment of silence as we looked out along the horizon, towards the flames blazing all across Rome. Selene was the first so speak. "Do you think her father will be charged with murder?"

I gave her an honest answer. "She was the property of Aquila. His slave." My voice cracked, shook with anger, but no one noticed. "If he wishes to ask for money for reparation, he may."

"Someone should kill him in his sleep," Julia said darkly, and I could not help but agree with her. "He should be slaughtered the way Tullia's father slaughtered her."

I considered this as the servant Faustina approached Octavia and whispered, "Domina, the cook says the feast is ready."

But Octavia snapped at her. "It's too soon." The girl flinched and disappeared back into the kitchens. In any other situation, Octavia would have never raised her voice like that, and I might have gone after the servant to apologize on her behalf. But our thoughts were heavy with the death of Tullia, and of the disgusting corruption that seemed to continually plague Rome.

"We can watch the fires burn or go inside," Vitruvius said quietly. "Either way, the girl was gone."

Everyone seemed to favor going inside, and so we shuffled into the triclinium with an uncomfortable silence draped over our shoulders. Dinner was a subdued affair, and what little conversation filled the halls was stilted, awkward. The celebration of our return from war paled before the death of the poor centurion's daughter. I was too angry to eat or even speak. I sat before my untouched plate of food, stewing in my own dark rage and replaying Julia's words over and over again. _Someone should kill him in his sleep. He should be slaughtered the way Tullia's father slaughtered her._

The sound of Selene's voice roused me from my thoughts. She was telling Marcellus what had happened in Rome during his absence. The Pantheon, a building commissioned by Agrippa, was nearing completion. Construction had also begun on Marcellus's theater in the last few weeks.

"Shall we see it tomorrow?" he asked eagerly.

"You mean, _after_ the ludus?" Octavia reminded him sharply.

Marcellus nodded. "Of course. So tell me," he asked excitedly to Vitruvius. "What does it look like?"

Vitruvius smiled. "Don't ask me. Ask Selene. She is your architect."

" _Really?"_

"Didn't you say the design should be left up to her?" Vitruvius asked.

Marcellus responded with a grin. "So?"

"It looks like the Circus Maximus," Selene said, and Marcellus slapped his knee. "There's three stories of arches, and columns in the Corinthian style."

"Is it big enough to hold races?" Marcellus asked excitedly.

"Marcellus!" Octavia reprimanded him.

Laughter rippled across the table, and even Octavia cracked a small smile. But I was the only one who continued to look sullen for the remainder of the dinner. I was angry enough already, and it didn't help that Selene kept sneaking looks at Marcellus. When the last sips of wine had been drained from their glasses, and yawns began to break out across the table, everyone rose to say their goodnights. I stood a little more sharply than I intended, knocking over an empty silver goblet. I think someone might have called my name, Octavia perhaps, but I was too agitated to acknowledge her. My cloak hissed along the tiles as I walked purposefully to Gallia and Verrius standing to the door of the vestibulum.

"There is much to discuss," I said in an urgent undertone. "Join me later this evening?"

"Of course," Gallia said at once.

We agreed to meet at my villa in an hour before parting ways. I was crossing the atrium when I noticed Selene standing not far from Marcellus and Julia, watching as the lovestruck couple shared a private moment. I walked quietly to Selene's side, so quiet that she jumped at the sound of my voice.

"Their marriage was arranged years ago," I said swiftly. "There's no use staring." When was she going to understand that? Did I have to throw myself at her feet to beg her to stop pining after a heir who was already in love with someone else?

Selene fixed me with her usual stubborn stare. "I wasn't staring," she said angrily.

I raised an eyebrow. "Then what were you doing?"

"Observing."

Right. For a moment, I was tempted to laugh in her face. Selene might have been sharp and compassionate, and a well-educated princess of Egypt — but her retorts were embarrassingly poor, and her stubbornness was interminable, as always. I didn't even know what to say for her, for what words could possibly drill some common sense into that dogged head of hers? In any case, I was tired and still coated in soot from our escape from the Forum. So I merely gave her a thin, polite smile before departing, leaving her to keep staring at the boy she would never have.

I met with Gallia and Verrius in my chamber later that night. Now that we were alone, I was finally able to unleash the rage I'd kept bottled up. I stalked across the marble floors with agitated footsteps, resisting the urge to throw my glass of wine at the wall. Gallia paced along with me, the two of us ranting out a storm. Her eyes were absolutely vicious, glazed with tears.

"Ridiculous _,_ " I snarled, my voice rising hoarsely in the quiet chamber. "Rome is disgusting. Day after day it sinks further and further into a pit of its own corruption, and _who_ is it that suffers? Not the _patricians_ , oh no, _of course_ not! It's the slaves, the plebeians, the very backbone of this shit hole of a city — who are abused, and _murdered_ , and forced to fend for themselves while the wealthy merely look on." I slammed my palm flat on the nearest table, making wine quiver in their bottles. "The gods must weep in shame."

"It's despicable," Gallia spat. "Barbaric. Tullia should _never_ have died. And those hundreds of slaves put to death because of the murder of their master — they did not need to die, either."

Verrius's voice was harsh. "Yet the patricians think they can do whatever they please, so long as they have enough gold weighing down the Senate's fat pockets. Since when did bribes outweigh human life?"

"Since the inception of Roman society, apparently," I said with a snort. "What should be a city of promise is instead one of degradation. _How_ are the senators so blind? Has my acta taught them _nothing_?"

"Perhaps they need another lesson," Gallia said darkly, and I nodded my head.

"You're absolutely right," I said. "We are the only ones who can bring real change to Rome, and so this evening we'll show the people what happens when you try and best morality."

Gallia stared hard into my eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"Acta," I said at once. "As many as it takes. We will condemn what happened to Tullia in the Forum today. We will encourage the plebeians to revolt. And we will post our messages _everywhere_ _—_ in every shop window, on every temple door. Even on Augustus's villa itself." I was breathing heavily, struggling to calm myself, but the anger was too strong. I felt it spiral inside me like the icy darkness of a rainstorm, savage and untamed. "Round up everyone tonight. As quickly as you can. We will copy as many as a hundred acta. I will begin a draft when I return later this evening."

"Return?" Gallia asked. "Are you…going somewhere?"

"I must pay Aquila a visit," I said simply, and she stared at me with a mixture of shock and approval.

Verrius stood swiftly. "You're going to kill him." It wasn't a question.

"Of course." My voice rang with cold finality. "He deserves to die. The man showed little regard for Tullia's life. And so I will show even less for his." I reached for my traveling cloak and slung it around my shoulders. "Killing him will set an example; it'll show the patricians that dishonesty before the law — and the mistreatment of those beneath them — will have serious consequences. I shouldn't be long, anyway. I've heard he spends nights like these in the _fornices._ I'll find him soon enough."

"And the body?" Gallia asked.

I shrugged. "What about it?"

"You ought to display it to the public," she said coldly. "Make his death known. Let be a further reminder that the Red Eagle will punish those who wrong the plebeians."

I nodded grimly before heading for the door. My fingers just barely grasped the handle when Gallia called me back. "And Juba?" I turned to her, and in the candlelight I could see the harshness of her Gallic warrior roots. Her blue eyes yearned for bloodlust, glinting like daggers, and it was clear that she was thinking of avenging Tullia herself. "Make sure he suffers."

* * *

Aquila, it seemed, was not a difficult man to find. A visit to his sprawling household and a discussion with one of his many slaves confirmed what I had been thinking: he had set out for the fornices that very evening _,_ seeking to throw himself on some other poor girl after failing to satiate his lust for Tullia.

My stride was swift and purposeful as I crossed the streets of Rome, passing soldiers as they collected the charred bodies of the rioters they'd slaughtered. The tumult was finally beginning to settle, the pyres dying down into nothing but a crimson afterglow along the horizon. My boots scattered bits of ash and shattered marble along the ground, and on and on I walked until I finally arrived at the fornices. The two men stationed before one of the rooms was enough to tell me that Aquila was inside. I kept to the shadows like a leopard stalking its prey, watching them. They did nothing of importance — simply yawned, and muttered a passing remark from time to time. When I was certain the courtyard was deserted, I reached for my bow.

I was quick; the first arrow streamed through the air and plunged straight into the nearest guard's throat. Before his companion could realize what had happened, my second arrow was already whistling straight for his chest. I watched the two of them crumple, their bodies tumbling to the ground in a whirl of bloodied red. I kept my bow held at the ready as I soundlessly approached them. One guard was dead, but the other continued to gurgle, gasping desperately for air through a torn throat. I kicked off his helmet and aimed an arrow for his brain; his violent thrashing stopped, and I watched as his eyes glazed over.

My executions had been near silent; no one came running into the courtyard to see what had happened. That only made things easier. I turned to Aquila's door and knocked it down with a single kick. The heavy wooden frame came tumbling, only to reveal a decrepit room lit by dying candlelight. But the most disgusting sight of all was that of Aquila on top of a young _lupa_ , choking the poor girl as he violated her. I watched him scramble from the bed at the sound of my arrival, and when he turned to see the arrow I'd pointed at his heart, his reddened face turned to ghost-white.

"Good evening," I said quietly.

The girl opened her mouth to scream, but I shook my head. "Don't." I lowered my bow and tossed a pouch of gold at her feet. "For your troubles. Go, and tell no one what you have seen here."

She did not need to be told twice; her fingers scrabbled for her clothes, and within seconds she was dressed and fleeing from the room with the _denarii_ in hand. "Well, what do you know?" I remarked derisively, turning towards Aquila as he cowered naked on the floor. "It seems gold _can_ make people do whatever you want. But you're already aware of that little detail, aren't you?"

"Who are you?" he demanded. "And where are my guards?"

"Dead," I said. "As for who I am, it's of no importance to you."

"I command you to tell me who you are at once!"

"You _command_ me," I mocked. "Well, that certainly changes things."

He was flustered by my sarcasm. "Who are you?" he shouted again.

I laughed mirthlessly. "You continue to ask who I am, without even asking the most important question: _why_ I am here." I stepped closer, the tip of my arrow still poised at his chest. "Would you like me to tell you?"

Aquila seemed too terrified to answer.

"It's quite simple, really. I come here on behalf of a beautiful young girl whose life was taken today." My words were soft and menacing, and Aquila's complexion grew even whiter as he realized why I must be here. "She might have married one day. Had children of her own. Cared for her father in his old age. But her life was cut short. You're a smart man, Aquila, can you tell me why?"

"It was no fault but her own," he spat at me. "The girl committed suicide."

"She had no other choice."

"She was a _coward!_ "

"Hardly. What she did took a considerable amount of courage. Not cowardice. And I will see to it she will not die in vain."

Fear pooled in his eyes as he stared at me. "You…you're not going to kill me, are you?"

"Of course I'm going to kill you, you foolish little man. Why else would I be here?"

"No! Please, _please_ _—_ _!_ "

He cried before me, begging me to spare his life, offering me large sums of gold in return for mercy. But I would not be swayed. I drew back arrow after arrow, striking him in the arms, the abdomen, the thighs. He screamed as the jagged tips pierced his flesh, but that scream turned to a grating splutter as another arrow lodged itself into his throat. He fell silent now, but I knew he was still alive by the shallowness of his breath, and the light flicker of his eyelids.

I dragged him to the Aventine not long after, and the plebeians watched with a mixture of awe and horror as Tullia's murderer was left to bleed out in the street. No one came forward to help him. No one made an attempt to notify the soldiers. And no one recognized me as Juba, either, as I'd donned a blonde wig and pulled up the hood of my cloak, casting my eyes into shadow. But they seemed to know who I was — or at least, who I claimed to be. They stared at me, and thanked me, and wished me well. Some even swore they'd stand behind my cause, no matter the cost. For they'd seen how I'd freed slaves and gladiators alike, how I filtered gold from my own treasury into the pockets of the poor, how I'd set out to condemn Caesar and the patricians for their brutality towards those beneath them.

It was only after I was long gone from the Aventine that the rumor reached my villa: the Red Eagle had slain Aquila.

* * *

 _June, 25 BC_

The summer brought us to the cool, sea-swept shores of the Capri once again, only this time I was not as eager for the respite.

The last few months had been a blur of plotting and scribbling acta, aided as usual by Gallia, Verrius, and the large pool of loyal followers I'd accumulated the past year. We'd taken to putting them up in the most egregious of places — merchant shop windows, every temple and basilica in Rome, and even on the heavy cedar doors of Augustus's villa. The more the plebeians read the acta, the greater the rift between themselves and the patricians grew. I continued to urge them to rise up, and not allow their livelihoods to be marred by mistreatment. I was growing bolder each and every day. Tullia's death seemed to have stirred something inside me, and I was not about to let the injustice of her death fade into memory.

I spent a lot of time alone on Capri. Sometimes, I would wander the beaches by myself, stepping through the crystal-clear shoals and enjoying the water rushing at my ankles. I'd wake before daybreak and take one of the Arabian steeds around the trodden roads, letting the staccato of its hooves calm me as we sped into the hills where no one could reach us. Or I'd take long naps on the balconies overlooking the sea, breathing in the salty air. It gave me time to think, to let the harsh, angry thoughts trickle from my mind like falling sand. Occasionally I would help the servants with errands, offering to fetch them supplies from the local village in exchange for some fresh pomegranates or olives. And although it took a great deal of nudging from Tiberius, I would often join everyone for a midday swim. There was a cove nestled along the plummeting calcareous cliffs on the western side of the island, and it was here where we would take a small boat to drift and swim in the brilliant blue waters.

A sea cave not far from the cove had been turned to an elaborate bathing pool for the local patricians. We reached it one day by boat, and I watched Selene marvel at all the intricate details — carvings of Neptune cut into niches in the rocky walls, blue mosaics tiling the shallows, azure waves swelling calmly against white stone. Claudia had accompanied us that day, emboldened by Agrippa, and I heard her ask from the boat's prow, "What do you think makes the water so blue?"

I pointed at a submerged cleft in the rock. "It's the opening down there," I explained, smiling at her. "That's where sunlight enters and lights the water below."

She opened her mouth to speak, but her response was drowned out by Marcellus's lively shout. "First in!"

We watched as he ripped off his tunic and dove into the water with a resounding splash. Tiberius and his younger brother Drusus followed suit, laughing as they plunged into the cool water.

I shot Agrippa a sly look. "What in the world is that?" I asked him, pointing to the far side of the cave.

He fell for it; in the moment it took for him to turn his head, I seized the opportunity to shove him into the water. Claudia's hand flew to her mouth to stifle her laughter as we watched her husband resurface, gasping and spluttering. He raised one hand and wiped the soaking hair from his eyes.

"You bastard," he laughed, and I grinned. "I ought to have known."

"You're far too trusting of me, my friend."

He snorted. "Clearly."

I sauntered to the edge of the boat and jumped into the water alongside him. We floated aimlessly together for a while, away from the others as we discussed trivial things — marriage, children, the future. Our distance from Rome — and naturally, from Augustus — allowed us to stray away from more serious topics, opting for more light-hearted conversations instead. I was glad for this; Agrippa was a close friend of mine, and while he seemed to show unwavering loyalty for Augustus, I'd always appreciated that he'd extended that same loyalty to me.

"So, Juba, now that you are twenty-two, when do you suppose you will marry?" he asked of me.

I drifted on my back, gazing up at the luminous white stone stretching above us. "It's up to Augustus, really," I said.

"Has he not discussed it with you?"

I was so used to closing myself off from other people, shutting down their questions with some sarcastic remark or another. But, as I paddled and floated alongside Agrippa in the blueness of the quiet sea cave, I realized I couldn't do that to him. And besides, the gentle ebb of the sea relaxed me, encouraging me to finally break down my protective walls.

"No, he has," I admitted. "But it was several years ago… a day before we set sail from Alexandria to Rome, in fact."

"Alexandria…" Agrippa murmured, and then the realization dawned upon him. "Of course. I should have known. A prince of Numidia to wed a princess of Egypt."

"A match made in Elysium," I said sarcastically.

He seemed genuinely surprised by my tone. "You are displeased?"

"Well, let's put it this way: things change, and it's possible Augustus might wed Selene off to someone else."

"I doubt it," Agrippa said thoughtfully. "Hmm… a match made in Elysium indeed. Selene is a remarkable girl. Quite sharp for her age, and incredibly gifted in the arts of architecture and languages."

"Don't forget her most admirable qualities, Agrippa," I said dryly. "Her stubbornness, belligerence, and short-temper are absolutely unparalleled."

He smiled a little. "Yes, but the girl _does_ have character. She is strong. You cannot deny that."

"I suppose not," I mumbled begrudgingly.

"She's taken everyone by surprise. When Vitruvius takes her to their build sites, she dirties her hands. She lays _tiles._ A girl!" He boomed with laughter, as if this was quite hilarious. "How curiously unheard of. And have you heard of her idea to build a foundling home for infants?" Of course I had. Although Selene had an infuriatingly sharp-tongue, no one could deny her compassion for those borne up from misfortune. After Horatia's child had been abandoned at the Columna Lactaria, Selene had spent a great deal of her time sketching columns and colonnades, detailing a marble home for all abandoned Roman babies. It was another reason why I so deeply cared for her. When I nodded, Agrippa continued, "Although he does not show it, Augustus likes the girl. He will want to pair her with someone of wealth and promise and royalty — and whom he trusts above anyone. You _might_ qualify, I suppose," he joked.

"You flatter me, Agrippa," I said, smirking.

We were quiet for a moment, content with the silence as we drifted lazily in the grotto. I listened to the water shift and bubble all around me, carrying me in its arms of swaying ultramarine. I could hear Selene talking and laughing with Claudia from the boat's prow, and I couldn't help myself — I turned to look at her. She moved with willowy grace, her skin made bronze from the island sun, her curls made loose from the brackish seawater. Her limbs had become long and lean, her breasts supple as they pressed against the strip of cloth that hid them. She was lovely and glowing. By the gods, I could not stop looking. And when Agrippa noticed my gaze, he cleared his throat and said with a grin, "If you ever need any advice for what comes after marriage, I'd be happy to help."

I'd started paddling around, but his words made me come to a complete and utter stop. "I — what?"

"Pleasing a woman can be rather daunting, especially if it's your first time—"

"…Agrippa, are we really having this conversation right now?"

He raised his brows. "I only want to make sure you're prepared. Even Marcellus has come to me to ask questions. Tiberius, too."

"Well, you needn't worry. I'm not exactly inexperienced."

He frowned at me. "You don't meant to say…you have been with a _lupa_?"

"Good gods, who do you think I am? Marcellus?" I laughed aloud at the very thought, and even Agrippa had to press together his lips to keep from smiling. "No, I've been with a couple of girls in the past." When he looked disbelieving, I explained. "Saturnina, the daughter of a praetor. I saw her briefly before she and her family were relocated to oversee a province in Greece. And Junia, the girl who used to study with me at the _ludus_." Agrippa was looking at me in a new light; for a moment, I wondered if he was perhaps proud of me. "I was seventeen," I added, almost defensively. "Young and curious."

"You surprise me. It seems I'll have to rescind my offer."

"Though I appreciate you offering all the same," I said, smiling. "Thank you, Agrippa."

"Certainly."

I glanced at Selene again, suddenly imagining what might happen should we finally marry. I'd taken girls to bed before, but that had been long before I'd met the princess — and at least a year before I'd set foot in Alexandria. It had been pleasurable at the time, certainly. That almost went without saying, for how could any sort of coitus be unpleasant? But somehow, I knew being with Selene would be different. Much different. The very thought of taking her to bed made me flush, and I had to duck my head beneath the water so Agrippa wouldn't see how red my face had become.

* * *

 _Note_

Next chapter on its way :) If I had to make an estimate, I'd say there's about three more chapters to go! (I think). Then I'll finally _finally_ go back and actually do some proofreading haha


	24. King

**King**

* * *

As our time at Capri gradually came to a close, I finally began spending more and more time with my companions. Gallia and I would play dice together on the marble balconies overlooking the sea, listening to the crash of waves, the hiss of sea foam. She'd always win, of course, making me sour, and I'd have to endure her cheeky grin the rest of the night. I often joined Octavia on long walks around the island, too, where we would discuss everything under the sun — Marcellus's marriage, her daughters, and even things of little importance, such as what we might eat for dinner that evening. We'd wander around the orchards, picking ripened cherries and olives and reminiscing about the old days, when I was but a young, reclusive Numidian prince taken under her wing. There was a library in the village, too, where I often pored over an assortment of intriguing scrolls detailing the island's history, all its flora and fauna. I am honest when I say that there were certainly no days of laziness. Tiberius and Marcellus challenged me to diving competitions at the docks, Verrius often came along with me whenever I went into town — and even Alexander would ask me to take him to the windy sea cliffs, where we would spar together as I taught him how to wield a sword.

But where her brother was amiable, warm and welcoming as the sun, Selene was like the moon, dark and withdrawn. Sometimes I'd try to talk to her, but it was obvious she had little interest in speaking with me. There were a number of reasons, the first being that I wasn't Marcellus. Of course. Second, she took regular offense to my dry humor. And last but certainly not _least,_ her belief that I was Augustus's spy had yet to be put to rest. Clearly, to her I was a man of _great_ danger. She was always distant, almost hostile, and looked at me with eyes of mistrust. If she was required to speak to me, especially in the presence of her magister or else Octavia, she kept her tone remarkably civil, yet cold. Regardless, I wanted to try and be on friendlier terms with her. So I approached her one chilly gray morning, summoning up every scrap of courage that I had. Though the weather had been warm most summer days, today it was peculiarly cold. Fog was rolling in from the sea, and Selene was sitting calmly in the gardens, sketching its sweeping advance. I thought she looked lovely in her pale white _stola_ threaded with emerald, which matched her eyes. Gooseflesh coated her bronze arms, yet if she was made cold by the briny sea winds, she did not show it.

"Hello," I said politely, my hands folded behind my back.

She turned around, but her face fell flat when she saw me standing there. "Oh, it's you," she said dismissively, returning to her drawing without pause.

I raised my eyebrows as I strolled towards her. My voice, which had once been polite, now hardened. "As welcoming as ever, princess."

Selene ignored me. "Seeing as though you're probably only here to keep an eye on me, you should know that I'm _only_ sketching." She raised her heavy book and reed pen defiantly. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Not that I know of," I said stiffly. And then I couldn't help but ask, "May I see?"

She shrugged as if she could care less. How encouraging. I seated myself beside her to have a look, trying not to take personal offense when she shifted slightly away from me. Leaning over her sketchbook, I found myself stunned. She'd captured the vista perfectly. The way the fog brushed the tops of the white buildings, billowing out across the shore like waves. The ridges of the sheer, calcareous cliffs, sweeping down to the sea. The towering colonnades and marble statues dotted around the rectangular bathing pools. Every line was neat, inked to perfection, looking as if they'd been drafted by Vitruvius himself. I was impressed, although I dare to say that impressed was an understatement.

"Well, what do you know. You _do_ have a talent."

I was merely teasing — sometimes I was forced to revert to black humor when I was nervous — but she glowered at me. Clearly, joking with her had been a mistake. "We can't all be skilled in lies and deceit," she said, with a suggestive nod in my direction.

"Quite right. But perhaps you ought to try it." A thin, sarcastic smile crossed my face, and I swiftly changed the subject, "So, how long have you been sketching this?"

"Close to an hour," she said, still not looking at me.

"Interesting. And are you planning on taking a break any time soon?"

Selene glanced up at me then, and a curl tumbled into her face. Amused, I watched as she whisked it away with one hand. "Not really," she said warily. "Why do you ask?"

This was a terrible idea, but regardless, I still rose to my feet. "I was about to head into town…I hear there's a merchant who sells imported Egyptian goods. A servant told me the man sells sketchbooks with papyrus pages, bound in calfskin. Just like the one you have there, I imagine." I pointed to the book splayed across her lap. "I could escort you there, if you'd like to have a look."

But she hugged her sketchbook to her chest. "No, thank you."

Disappointment cut me like the blade of a knife. "May I inquire why?"

"This is from my mother's library," Selene explained, and I watched her look away from me, her eyes distant. "When I was young, she let me and my brother choose a single book to our liking. Alexander picked an encyclopedia on horses. I chose this." The wind stirred her curls, and she mirrored its whisper with a sigh of her own. "Now that her necklace is gone, it's the last thing I have of her. It's all I'll ever use to sketch."

"I understand, but surely you must be running out of pages by now," I said, smiling. I was _trying_ to be encouraging, and yet she scowled at me. Gods, was there anyway of pleasing this woman? "You won't be able to draw in it forever. Come with me. I'll even buy it for you."

Selene narrowed her eyes, so thin I could only see slivers of green. "I don't need the charity."

"It's not charity. I know this might sound strange and unusual to you, princess, but it's this little thing we call 'kindness.'"

"Yes, but what I don't understand is why that kindness is coming from _you_."

"Excuse me." I laughed at this. "I am an _exceptionally_ kind person."

"Yes. When you're up to something."

The smile dropped from my face, and for a moment we simply stared at each other. "You still don't trust me," I realized quietly.

"That happens when you're dragged from your kingdom and supervised day after day by Augustus's _loyal_ spy," she said harshly, and I could hear the glow of rage smoldering in her voice. "Alexander may like you, but you and I both know you'd be running off to Augustus in a heartbeat if we did something wrong."

"You know nothing of me, _princess._ "

"I know enough," she retorted.

I stepped sharply forward, looming over her, suddenly aware of our difference of heights. She did not flinch, not even as I snapped, "Oh? Then why don't you go ahead and _share_ with me what it is about me that vexes you so. Jupiter knows how much I _adore_ constructive criticism."

She stood her ground, her chest heaving as she spat, "Does it really need to be said? You are Augustus's spy. His pet. You're just as heartless and vile as him! Do you think I've forgotten what you said to me on my mother's _thalamegos_ all those years ago, when I cried for the death of my family? 'You can weep, but it won't bring them back.' I was just a scared little girl at the time, and it was one of the cruelest things I could hear." I grimaced. Times had been different then; this was before she'd proved her worth to Augustus by saving his life, and I'd had no choice but to be cold and brusque to her. Now, I regretted that more than anything. Anger flooded her voice as she continued fiercely, "I'll _never_ forget how you've treated me. Patronized me. And I see how often you look at me, just waiting for me to make a mistake so you can run off to Caesar like some mangy dog bringing home a bone." It didn't seem to occur to her that I was always looking at her for _another_ reason entirely. "Numidian blood might flow through your veins, but you're just as barbaric as the rest of these Romans. So there you go. _That's_ what vexes me, Juba."

I was so shocked and hurt and full of frigid anger that I couldn't even find the words to speak. I could only stare at her, at this girl that I had grown quite fond of over the years despite her stubborn, short-tempered nature. Could she really think so low of me, even after I'd saved her life? One look into her glaring green eyes told me enough. I wasn't wanted. So rather than linger, I gave a low, mocking bow. "If that is what you think, _Your Highness_." Then I spun around on my heel and stalked across the palace in a fit of rage and anxiety. I rushed my hands through my long hair as I stumbled through the maze of winding hallways, only distantly aware of where my feet were taking me. Was Selene _really_ so mistrusting of me? How could I have let this get so out of hand? Perhaps I had played my part as Augustus's aide too well — all those past unkind comments, all the harshness that stemmed from my blunt honesty — and now she had come to believe my mask was genuine. I was so angry with Selene and so disappointed in myself that I slumped on a bench in a deserted courtyard and just sat there, staring blankly at the fountain that trickled into the moss-rimmed pool.

I was there for so long that I suppose I must have dozed off. One moment I was fretting about Selene, and in the next I was slumped over on the bench, waking with a start. A light drizzle was falling through the skylight above, misting my hair and cloak. I looked around sheepishly, hoping no one had seen me.

Then I noticed something peculiar.

A pomegranate had been left in a alabaster bowl at my side, cut in half and dribbling with rich red juice. I stared at it for a moment, utterly bewildered. Then I grinned as the realization hit me. Gallia knew of my fondness for pomegranates, something I'd harbored since my childhood. Perhaps she had spotted me snoozing and, in her amusement, had left one of the fruits for me. The thought lightened my dark, brooding mood — especially after how painfully I'd been rejected and shouted at by Selene. So I sat there for a little while longer, picking at the seeds and watching the rainy drizzle wet the air around me.

* * *

Later in the evening after dinner, our group retired to the summer _triclinium_ to relax. I curled up on a crouch with a scroll in hand, reading the latest news to come from Rome and not even daring to look at Selene. Agrippa had his nose buried in an old book with Claudia nestled into the crook of his arm. Everyone else sat quietly in the middle of the _triclinium,_ watching Alexander, Lucius, and Julia play a competitive game of dice. Marcellus was behind Julia, whispering tips into her ear. Every now and then I'd look up from my reading at the quick, scattering sound of dice, curious to see who was winning. Tiberius had been out of the running several turns ago; he now sat haughtily near his brother Drusus, sipping on juice the servants brought from the kitchens.

Julia rolled, and Lucius gave a shout. "Four Vultures!"

"I'm finished," she groaned, hanging her head.

"But no one's thrown a Venus," Lucius pointed out. "The next roll could be yours."

But Julia pouted. "It's always the next roll with you two. You can keep my _denarii_ in the pot."

Alexander smirked. "Your loss," he said, but she didn't seem to care. While he and Lucius continued to play, Julia and Marcellus quietly left the room. Agrippa shook his head at them with a small smile. I wondered how long it would take for Selene to notice their departure. And sure enough, after Lucius had won the game, she asked, "Where did Marcellus go?"

"With Julia," Tonia said. "Out to the gardens. I think they're sitting in the gazebo."

"Which one?" she asked, and I breathed out a sigh of annoyance.

"Near the statue of Fortuna. Would you like me to show it to you?"

I'd heard enough. "Leave them alone," I said curtly, looking up from my scroll. "They've gone there for a reason."

But her stubbornness was unfathomable. "And how do you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I have eyes."

To my disbelief, Selene still rose to her feet, smoothing out her stola with purposeful hands. "Would you like me to show you?" Tonia asked her eagerly.

"Yes," Selene said crisply.

"You're wasting your time," I said irritably. "If you think you're in love with him, you're no different from any of the girls at the roadside inns. Besides," I added pointedly, "it's Julia he's meant for."

"So everyone says."

I folded my fingers into my lap. "So Augustus says." She paused, and I explained, "The letter came today. Octavia will probably announce it tomorrow."

Selene looked as though the breath had been knocked out of her. Tonia tugged on her hand and asked, "Shall we go?"

"Just take me to the baths," Selene murmured, looking crestfallen.

I shook my head dispassionately as the two girls took their leave, and hoped that indeed, they had gone to the baths rather than scour the gardens just to soothe Selene's delusional love infatuation. The thought of her affection for Marcellus just made me sour, and I couldn't even break a smile when Tiberius leaned over to tell me something witty about the sailors he'd spoke with in the harbor that day. Soon after, when I kept my eyes on my scroll and refused to so much as talk to anyone, I became the last one in the triclinium _._ One by one, my companions trickled into their rooms as exhaustion claimed them. But I refused to retire for the night. The thought of lying in bed with so many dark thoughts rushing through my head was less than appealing. So I kept reading for hours, poring over an assortment of scrolls and maps until the embers in the brazier became nothing more than a weak, flickering glow. And although I hated myself for it, Selene continued to cross my mind from time to time. I thought of the way she'd stared at me, her eyes filled with mistrust. The way she loved Marcellus while she loathed me. The realization that she thought of me of nothing more than Caesar's _pet._ Pain and jealousy seemed to swell in my chest, and I suddenly felt as if I was drowning, sinking, unable to breathe.

Footsteps echoed on the tiles then, making me start. I swung around to see a pretty servant walking towards me, carrying a glazed faience bowl between her hands. Her long, dark hair twisted into an elegant braid that fell to her lower back, and her eyes were long and slanting, their color a warm amber. I tilted my head to one side as she approached, struggling to remember her name. She was familiar, though, and I was certain she had accompanied us from Rome to Capri. I recognized her hair and her features, but for whatever reason, her name completely escaped me.

"Apologies, Domine," she said, dipping her head. "I hope I did not startle you."

"That's quite alright," I said. "No need to apologize. I didn't expect anyone else to be here this late, I suppose."

"We usually clean the chambers at this hour," she said.

"Ah," I said, and I hastily began to gather my belongings. "That completely slipped my mind. Here — let me get out of your way—"

"Oh, please don't!" she said quickly, hurrying to my side, her long braid swinging over her shoulder. "Take your time, Domine, I am in no rush. Please, allow me to get the fire going again." She placed the faience bowl on a low table and began to stoke the fire. Within moments, the polished marble of the triclinium was illuminated in a blaze of orange light, its warmth slipping over my skin. As I watched her, studying her elegant hands moving before the flames, I suddenly remembered her name. Faustina, Octavia's demure servant. I remembered seeing her on the Palatine from time to time, and most recently, Octavia had snapped at her following the death of Tullia. My eyes strayed to the bowl she'd brought, and I couldn't help but laugh when I recognized its contents.

"Pomegranate seeds?" I said curiously, unable to resist a smile.

"They are your favorite, aren't they, Domine?"

"That they are. How did you…?"

"Gallia told me," Faustina said brightly.

"But I thought…earlier…" My voice trailed away. I studied her for a long moment, then chuckled when the realization hit me. "Ah. You wouldn't happen to know anything about a mysterious pomegranate that was left at my side earlier today, would you?"

"I could not help myself," she laughed.

"So I see," I said, laughing with her. "Didn't think to rouse me, eh? Just gawk at me and leave me with some fruit. How _considerate_."

"Forgive me, Domine, but you looked so _funny_ sleeping there with your mouth hanging open!"

"It must have been quite the sight."

Faustina's laughter was contagious and beautiful. "Here," she said at last, when her giggles had finally subsided. She passed the bowl of pomegranate seeds to me, and at once I began to eat them with abandon.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "I've had a very trying day. But this has made it a bit better."

"That is what I hoped," the girl said, and I was glad when she seated herself beside me. I offered the bowl to her, and we both crunched on the juicy seeds, watching the flames rise from the brazier.

"Why?" I asked her abruptly. She didn't answer, so I pried, "Faustina, I'm merely curious. Why did you hope my day would be better?"

"Well…forgive me Domine, but…"

"It is Juba," I said gently. "Not Domine."

"Juba," she began nervously, and then she paused. "We slaves might not say much, but we listen. And we begin to see things others might overlook. And I hope it is not out of place to say so, but you…you look terribly lonely."

"Lonely?" I repeated the word numbly. It sounded odd on my tongue, like I'd just swallowed sand.

She nodded, her eyes wide with anxiousness. "Please, I mean no offense. I am merely being honest. I've just noticed that you do not seem as happy as the others, even surrounded by all the beauty on this island."

"It's called stoicism," I snapped at her. "There's a difference." My voice was harsher than I intended, and I watched guiltily as she flinched. I didn't mean it, really. I was merely putting up my defenses in a desperate attempt to seal those splintering cracks she had so clearly noticed. Were my emotions _really_ that obvious? I thought I'd been keeping up the facade rather well, hiding everything from my identity as the Red Eagle to my troublesome love for Selene. But now I felt fragile and transparent, like a pane of glass just waiting to buckle. How long would it take before there were more chips in my composure, causing me to fall apart entirely?

Even so, I was still touched by the girl's kindness, her sharp observation skills. I gave her a tired smile. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to snap. Thank you. Trust me, this means more to me than you can possibly understand."

Faustina was quiet for a moment, playing with the tip of her braid. Then she asked, "May I ask why you are so fond of pomegranates?"

I shrugged. "Sentimental reasons, I suppose."

She looked curiously at me. "Why sentimental?"

"Well…" My gaze dropped to my hands as a wave of chilly uncertainty worked its way through me. The thought of opening up about my past — even if it was to answer Faustina's small, innocent question — was the very _last_ thing I wanted to do. That was a dark, difficult road that I routinely shut myself away from, preferring to avoid it altogether. But Faustina was a nice girl, and what she had done for me this evening had been incredibly kind. So I forced myself to open up to her.

"It is because of my mother," I explained, and a feeling of warmth suddenly enveloped me as I remembered her. Even though her image was faded, worn from the passing of time, I could still recall details of her face quite clearly: the dark, glittering amber of her kohl-rimmed eyes, the tumbling mass of her black hair, the gleaming white of her smile against sun-baked skin. The elegance of her long fingers, how they commanded her prized longbow with masterful grace, and stroked my hair at night when I had nightmares, and toyed with my father's dark beard when he was looking over scrolls. I sucked in a deep breath and then said, "I come from Numidia. And in our palace we had so many gardens and orchards. My mother would tend to them everyday. And when she married my father, one of her many gifts to him was a wide orchard of pomegranate trees. I used to wander around them when I was young, and sometimes I'd get lost, but she'd always be there to find me." My eyes grew distant as fragments of my old life came flooding back: the sights, the smells, the sounds. The shift of silken sand, the glittering haze of heat, the winds that swirled the dunes, riding their backs until they sloped down to a luminous turquoise sea. "She taught me how to pick pomegranate seeds. She used to make wine and syrup from the juice as well. Even now, the very smell still reminds me of her."

"She must have been a remarkable woman."

"She was," I said softly, my shoulders sagging as though weighed down by stone. "And I miss her every day." I paused for a long moment, clenching my teeth as a heaviness bulged in my throat. "Perhaps I have been lonely. Perhaps you're right."

Faustina rested her hand on mine, and I almost jumped. It had been a while since I'd felt another's touch; it was foreign, almost, and I was ashamed by how strongly it had startled me. "I am so very sorry," she murmured. "I know what it's like to feel lost, too…and lonely…trapped in a world that bears little semblance to your own. For many years, after my country was conquered and I was brought in chains to Rome, I refused to talk about my feelings to anyone. But I came to learn that shutting away my traumas was… _unhealthy._ A mental trap of sorts. You become stuck, like a ship frozen in ice."

"That certainly sounds familiar," I said quietly.

She smiled sadly. "Yes, I thought it might, even though we come from different worlds. You, a prince, and me, a Dacian peasant."

"We're more alike than you think. Everyone's a slave to Augustus, in some way or another."

"Even you?"

"Yes. Even me," I said. The Red Eagle, however, was a different story.

We talked together for a little while, sharing bits and pieces of the lives we had known before Rome. I found her to be remarkably wise, and it was soothing, almost, to talk of something _different._ Nothing about acta, or patricians, or even marriage. And as we told each other of our hardships, I began to realize one simple thing: Selene's disinterest in me was far from the worst thing in the world. Of everything I had faced in life thus far — the fall of my kingdom, the slaughter of my family, the brutality of war — her feelings for me, or lack of thereof, were minuscule in comparison. It was painful, sure, to love and not be loved in return. But there was no use in dwelling on it. No use in letting my jealousy for Marcellus get the better of me. Perhaps one day, when she'd finally learn of everything I'd done for her all these years, she would warm up to me. But in the meantime, I would simply have to stop feeling so sorry for myself.

Gradually, I noticed the gray light of dawn brushing the horizon. I hadn't even noticed the time, for we had been too immersed in conversation. And although I had no desire to leave, I stood slowly and kissed Faustina's cheek, making her blush wildly with color. For a moment, I was made dizzy by her scent of lavender, and by the silky smoothness of her skin. There was something very sweet about her breath that made me want to kiss her again, only this time on her lips. Her neck, perhaps. And before I knew it, a familiar sensation crept up inside me. A longing, a primal need — something I hadn't felt in quite some time. It had been a while since I had taken a woman to bed. Years, in fact. But standing before this pretty girl now, I was full of sudden, desperate, unabashed lust. Kissing her had been a mistake, and I could think only of sweeping her up onto the couch and being quick and rough about it. I was a man, after all. A lonely one, at that. I had feelings for Selene, but I could not deny the enticing idea of tangling with a woman in bed, the feel of her warm skin grazing mine, the motion of her hips, her panting, her everything. Coitus, after all, was a cathartic release. And perhaps the caress of another woman could draw me away from everything else that troubled me…

Faustina slipped closer to me, her almond eyes holding mine. She kissed my neck first, then my lips. But when I did not move or kiss her back, she asked hesitantly, "Juba, are you unwell?"

I was worse than unwell, I was pretty damned close to breaking into pieces. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes for a long moment, willing myself to show some maturity, some restraint. There was no denying the girl's beauty and charm. But she was also a slave. Slaves couldn't very well say no to any higher authority, and even if Faustina were to say yes, there was no way I wouldn't feel the slightest bit of guilt. For how could I know she was truly agreeable, and not simply pressured into coming to my bed because I was a prince? I pinched my nose even tighter, aware of how temptingly close she was to me. I was already quite tall, and she barely reached my chest, but all I'd have to do was grip the sides of her cheeks and lean my neck forward to kiss her. There was no one around to see. I could slide my hand up her thigh to move away the fabric of her stola. Could spin her around and press my hand into her neck, bending her over before me. We could slip into my chamber completely unnoticed, we could strip each other of our clothes, and I could finally ease some sexual frustrations that had been building inside of me for months now. That would be satisfying…right?

But when she reached out to touch me, I gently stopped her hands. She looked hurt, and I could almost see the flicker of humiliation cross her face.

"I cannot," I murmured. "I am sorry." Then I walked alone to my chamber and burrowed myself into my blankets, longing to be pulled away into the unfeeling blackness of sleep.

* * *

I woke sluggishly later that morning, and, when I finally trudged into the triclinium for breakfast, I realized that everyone had been waiting for me. Octavia shook her head when she saw my tousled hair and creased tunic, and even Gallia raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Nice of you to join us, Juba," Octavia teased. "Were you planning on sleeping until noon?"

"I definitely considered it," I said wryly, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes. "But hunger, it seems, is an impressive incentive."

Agrippa was watching me curiously, his chin resting leisurely on his palm. I knew he was wondering if something had happened to me; I was usually the first one to enter the triclinium in the mornings, as I would rise from bed around daybreak and sometimes take out a horse for a quick morning ride. But he didn't inquire, merely passing me a plate of herbed bread and olives. Faustina was serving us today, sweeping around the couches and tables with her braid swaying behind her. But I couldn't bear to look at her as she poured my watered wine, managing only a polite thank you instead.

I was quite glad when Octavia finally stood, leaving Faustina to shuffle away while the entire triclinium descended into silence. I knew what she was about to say; although the letter had arrived yesterday, today she would make the announcement of her son's marriage. And sure enough, she spread her arms wide and cried out, "Augustus has sent word from Iberia. Marcellus and Julia are to be married! The date has been set for December twenty-fourth!" Cheers and thunderous applause filled the hall, and I watched the engaged lovers embrace. Julia's eyes were shining with tears as Marcellus kissed her, and when I glanced to Selene, I noticed her eyes were staring down at her plate.

But that was not all Octavia had to share. "I have a second declaration from Augustus." She was beaming at _me_ , and for a moment the breath caught in my throat. Was she about to announce a second marriage? My heart pounded in my chest as she said, "In honor of his service to Rome, and his unwavering loyalty to Augustus, Juba, Prince of Numidia, is to be made King of Mauretania."

The triclinium exploded with noise, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, rushing to congratulate me. Octavia kissed my forehead, her eyes shining with tears. Agrippa slapped his hand on my back, and the expression on his face was nothing but pride. I was stunned. Years and years of working resiliently under Augustus — of feeding him Red Eagle lies beneath honest truths — had led to this moment. I thought of the young boy I had once been — the Numidian prince dragged from his home and brought before the powers of Rome, shivering beneath the scraps of his tattered clothing with his father's blood still painting his skin — and I compared him to the man I'd become today. There was no denying how much I had grown, and how strong I had become. Not only as Juba, but as the Red Eagle as well. And although I would be part of a client kingship in which I'd continue to serve the purposes of Rome, Mauretania still adjoined my homelands of Numidia. I was certain it would not be long before Augustus would place my birth country under my command.

"Congratulations, Juba," Gallia said, pulling me into a tight hug. Her hair brushed my nose, and I held her for a moment, the woman who was in every way my sister.

"I believe the proper term is 'Your Highness,'" I said loftily. She shoved my arm and I gave her a smirk in return.

Agrippa was grinning. "As soon as you're comfortable in your new palace, we plan on making the journey south for a visit."

I let out a good-natured laugh. "While I'd like that, I don't expect I'll be leaving any time soon," I admitted. "There's the matter of a war in Cantabria to finish. I'm not sure how Augustus would feel about returning home to discover that I'd left him."

"Very true," Agrippa said with a thoughtful nod. "Then I look forward to seeing your kingdom in the future, _Your Highness_ ," he added with a smirk.

I laughed at this, then stopped short when I saw Faustina again. She was walking towards the kitchens with a glittering glass bowl in her hands, her dark braid swinging behind her. Her almond eyes were downcast, and it was with a pang of guilt that I realized how unhappy I'd made her. Suddenly heedless of my companions chatting around me, I straightened my cloak and quietly excused myself. I could feel Gallia's questioning stare on my back, but I did not turn. As I crossed the chamber, I passed by Alexander and Selene. The twins were talking quietly together beside a trickling fountain, their eyes flicking in my direction. Of course, I knew what they were saying. What they were speculating. Now that I had been anointed king, and given lands so close to that of my birth nation, they were wondering if the same honor would be bestowed upon them as well. One day, perhaps. I nodded at them as I passed, though my gaze was frosty as it slid over Selene. Alexander stood quickly to congratulate me, but not even his sister could muster up words of praise.

I was quite glad when I was finally away from her, following the long river of marble that stretched towards the kitchens, sleek and glimmering underfoot. A cold, salty wind blew in from the sea, stirring my cloak behind me. I had just reached the doorway when a stout, blond slave appeared, regarding me for a moment with surprise. "King Juba?" he cried, pushing his hair from his face. "How may I be of service?"

My eyes roved the chamber, where pots and crystal glistened from their shelves, and barrels swelled with fresh fruit. I kept my tone cool and businesslike as I explained, "I am looking for a slave girl by the name of Faustina—"

There was a resounding _crash_ , and every head in the room turned to look for its source. Faustina was standing frozen, her dark amber eyes fixed on me. I knew from the shattered glass at her feet that she must have dropped the bowl she'd been holding. "Ah," I said. "It seems I found her." And without another word, I moved forward and helped her pick up the pieces.

She kneeled quickly, carefully collecting the broken shards. "You don't have to do this, Domine," she mumbled.

"I want to," I said quietly. "And it's Juba, remember?" When the last of the glass had been gathered and tossed into an amphora, I gestured towards the nearest courtyard. "May I speak with you?" She nodded wordlessly, and the slaves around us stared as I led her outside. When we were alone, with only the sound of the crashing sea to fill the air around us, I rushed one hand through my hair. I hadn't prepared what to say, and so the words came tumbling out in a rush. "Forgive me for last night, Faustina. I don't know what came over me. You are beautiful and kind, but it was wrong for me to kiss your cheek that way. It was not my intention to lead you on, and I—"

She raised her eyes to mine. "You do not need to apologize."

"Quite the contrary, my lady. I am ashamed of my actions, and I worry that perhaps I hurt you. I _did_ want to be with you, make no mistake of it. But…it is more complicated than you can possibly imagine."

"I doubt it." And then she said, "There is another girl you think of, is there not?"

I might have staggered backwards in surprise. But instead, I kept my expression clouded, unreadable, as I looked into this woman and her clever amber eyes. "Yes…"

Her voice was amiable, but I think I could catch a bitter glint buried in her gaze. "There always is."

"Forgive me," I said again. "You should know that talking to you last night helped in more ways than one. I will never forget that."

Faustina's hand reached out, her palm falling gently across my forearm. "I like you, Juba. Truly, I do. And if you ever need to talk again, please know that I am here for you. As a friend," she added, after a thought.

I wanted to embrace her in gratitude, but then thought better of it. Instead, I smiled down at her, relieved to see the warmth in her amber eyes. "A friend is what I so desperately need," I said honestly. "Thank you, Faustina."

* * *

We left for Rome the following day, and everyone was in high spirits as our ships glided toward the horizon. Even Tiberius was cheerful, dropping his sour attitude and spending a curious amount of time studying scrolls with Selene. I kept company with Gallia and Faustina for most of our voyage at sea, and the three of us would lounge around playing chess and discussing Mauretanian culture. The cuisine the customs, everything. It wasn't until one balmy afternoon, when we were lounging around eating fresh figs and plump dates, that Gallia leaned over to me and said, "So, do you plan on telling me what you're going to do with that old book?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said lazily.

Gallia gave me a long look. "You can play stupid," she scolded, "But I saw you going into that Egyptian shop last night. I was buying oysters with Faustina, and she was the one who spotted you."

"Oh?" I arched an eyebrow. "How fascinating."

"Yes, how fascinating indeed." She scowled at me. "And when you emerged, you had something in your hands. Some kind of book, it seemed like."

"How do you know it was a boring old book? I'm a king now, it could have been _anything_. Use your imagination, Gallia."

Though I was only teasing her, Gallia was certainly right. The evening before our departure to Rome, I'd stopped by the tipsy little shop that sold a wealth of imported Egyptian goods. And while there, I'd shifted aside ankhs and assorted incenses of myrrh and acacia to find a very special book. Bound in calfskin and inlaid with gold filigree, the smooth papyrus pages were just waiting to be inked. Although Selene had dismissed my offer, I'd bought the book for her anyway. I didn't know when I'd be able to give it to her. It might be months — years, even. But I hoped that perhaps one day — when we would meet as equals, not as adversaries — I could give her the book along with her necklace, and she could finally see how much I cared for her.

* * *

 _Note_

Thanks for reading! And to Judy Laura L — I'm so so happy you and your sister are enjoying the story so far! Thanks for sticking with it for this long, I really appreciate it :)


	25. Assassin

**Assassin**

* * *

 _November, 25 BC_

* * *

The skies were bleak, the streets drowned by a harsh downpour that sent icy rainwater sluicing its way through the city. Even as Saturnalia approached, and preparations for Marcellus and Julia's marriage were underway, the weather grew colder and wetter, and the rains that swept Rome became almost unrelenting. Droplets fell thickly, heavy as stones. Even the Tiber River stormed with muddy water, churning its way through the sodden earth as it threatened to overflow its banks. Commerce in the Forum slowed, with many people preferring to stay indoors rather than brave the violent storms. I didn't mind the rain; fewer people on the streets meant fewer people noticing the Red Eagle slipping through the winding maze of Rome. It gave me the obscurity I needed, masking my presence in a torrential sheet as I continued to post acta, and free both slaves and gladiators alike. In the dripping rain, there was no one to question me, and I was quite glad for it.

I was sitting in the triclinium one morning after breakfast, listening to the thundering downpour with a winter cloak draped over my shoulders, when I noticed Selene talking with Alexander on the portico. Octavia's villa was full of commotion: despite the rain, everyone from butchers to winemakers to bakers were arriving with their goods in tow, bringing an assortment of food and drink that could feed no less than a thousand guests. The wedding between Marcellus and Julia was to be a grand one, and so almost no expense would be spared. I'd been watching the arrivals with mild interest, as servants with heavy chests and barrels came pouring into the villa, but now my attention was turned to Selene. She looked incredibly morose as she spoke with her brother, and I knew that Marcellus's marriage lay heavy on her shoulders.

Alexander's voice drifted into the triclinium. "What will you do, then?" I heard him ask. "Sit out here on the portico and feel sorry for yourself? It's cold. Come to the odeum. There'll be warm beer and _ofellae_."

The rain fell heavily for a moment, drowning out Selene's response. Gallia walked over to me then, passing me a cup of warmed mulled spice. I gave her my thanks, then returned a curious gaze to the portico. Selene was talking in earnest about her theater now, the one she was building for Marcellus alongside Vitruvius.

"It's my project," she was saying heatedly. "Vitruvius gave it to me, and I'll see that it's done right. Work doesn't stop just because it's a silly Roman festival." Even though Alexander looked as though he wanted to protest, he held his tongue. I didn't blame him; there was no use in trying to combat Selene's stubbornness. He merely watched her with troubled eyes as she marched over to Octavia, who was frantically crying out orders to the arriving patrons. The two spoke briefly, and then Selene was pulling on a traveling cloak of deep indigo with two guards holding an _umbraculum_ beside her.

"And just where does she think she's going?" Gallia scolded in Gaulish, glancing up from her cup of mulled spice.

"Something about checking on her theater," I said indifferently, also speaking in her native tongue.

"In _this_ rain? And Octavia let her? Is she mad?"

"She probably has enough to worry about," I said. "You know, with the wedding, and all that."

Gallia made a noise in her throat. "You ought to go with them, Juba. Make sure nothing happens to her."

"What do think she's going to do, Gallia? Fall into a puddle and drown?"

"Be reasonable. The Tiber's close to flooding and I've never seen rains this fierce. Just go and keep an eye on her."

"Why? So she can yell at me again? As lovely as that sounds, I think I'll pass. You go."

She stared at me, perplexed. "Are you actually avoiding spending time alone with Selene?"

"Time alone with Selene usually ends in some kind of argument or another, so, I'll have to go ahead and say _yes_. Yes I am." Gallia narrowed her eyes at me, and after a sip of my drink I explained coolly, "The girl wants nothing to do with me, and I can't even tell her the truth so she'll stop thinking I'm a spy. I'd have to put away my mask as the Red Eagle for good in order to tell her everything. So why even bother making an effort to pursue her now?"

"Because you love her," Gallia said gently, and I felt a rush of exasperation, almost wishing I'd never told a soul about my feelings for Selene.

"Spare me," I muttered under my breath.

She glowered in my direction, then huffed, "Listen, Juba, I know you're trying to be patient now, and let her warm up to you in time — but you can only wait for so long. Especially since you're to leave for Mauretania sometime next year." I sighed irritably, hating the fact that she was giving me the sisterly lecture, but she went on, "And who knows when you'll be able to tell her everything about Red Eagle? And the gold you used to support her, and the necklace? What's going to happen when the two of you are betrothed before that moment comes, and she _still_ despises you? What kind of marriage is that?"

"A typical one?" I remarked wryly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Just…go talk with her. Keep building up her trust — and her interest, too. She's clearly distressed about Marcellus. But now that he's to be taken by Julia, perhaps she'll start looking at you in a different light."

"And perhaps you're being too optimistic," I said grudgingly, shaking my head.

There was a long moment of silence, and then she snarled at me, all patience lost, her voice so loud that even the slaves turned their heads. "Great Jupiter!"

"What?" I asked pointedly, arching a single brow.

"You are doing it again."

"What?"

My airy tone only seemed to irritate her even further. "Being… _you,_ " she said.

I was almost tempted to laugh. "I'm sorry, is that a problem?"

"Absolutely! And would you care to know why? Because there is no one on this green earth who sulks more than you! You are the king of brooding, not Mauretania. Stop laughing!" she hissed, and I quickly smoothed my face. "You must quit this, Juba. Otherwise it shall make you bitter."

"I'm already bitter," I said carelessly, pulling a scroll on my lap and twirling my pen between my long fingers. "Now be quiet, Gallia I'm trying to read." I'd expected her to fall silent after this, returning to her cup of mulled spice and accepting defeat. But Gallia was relentless; she continued to badger me until I finally gave in. "Alright, alright, I'll go to the theater," I muttered. "But if it doesn't go well, you owe me a bottle of wine. And the expensive pomegranate stuff, mind you."

I polished off the last of the mulled spice and rose to my feet. After borrowing a small _umbraculum_ from Octavia, I walked out into the curtain of violent rain. The Palatine was empty, with the exception of the merchants still bringing in wedding supplies, stepping carefully so as not to slip in the mud. Selene and her entourage were nowhere to be found, and I assumed they had taken a different route to the theater. So I walked alone, my reflection flitting alongside me in the sprawl of gleaming puddles. The wind grew restless as I entered the heart of Rome, and suddenly the rain fell harsh and slantwise, pelting my skin like shards of ice. The streets were absolutely deserted, the vendor stalls abandoned. Even the _fornices_ were empty of patrons. It seemed that both the rainstorm and the celebrations of Saturnalia had kept everyone inside. I almost envied them, shivering as I drew my cloak up to my chin. _Why_ Selene wanted to escape the warmth of the Palatine was beyond me.

At length, the arches of Selene's magnificent theater came into view. The guards who had accompanied her were stationed beneath the gleaming marble, likely standing watch while she roamed around inside.

"King Juba?" one of them said in surprise.

"We had no idea you would be here, Your Highness!" his companion exclaimed.

I smiled idly, still unaccustomed to being addressed by such a formal title. "Oh, I'm just admiring the sights." I nodded to the theater. "You came here with Princess Selene, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes, she's inside."

"Excellent. I'd like to have a word with her. One moment, if you please."

I stepped through the arches and into the coolness of the theater's atrium, my cloak catching the chilly wind behind me. Torchlight glimmered on a floor of creamy marble, lighting my path as I made my way to the sloping seats of the _cavea._ Signs of obvious construction were still visible; cracked mosaics needed to be replaced, empty niches were hollow without statues to fill them, builder's tools were scattered here and there, and every fountain was pristine but waterless. Regardless, I was impressed by the seamless craftsmanship displayed before me — and of the intricate planning that had so clearly taken place. Selene certainly had an eye for design, I noted. I could see where she'd influenced the Corinthian columns, and embedded Egyptian lapis lazuli into the smooth travertine walls. Remarkable. I pressed one palm against an exquisitely carved column, feeling my palm soak up the chill of the marble. Bitterly I wondered if Marcellus would ever set foot here, let alone recognize the many forms of architecture incorporated into the final design. It was his theater, supposedly, but it was _Selene_ who had sunk her entire heart into the project. And she had done so beautifully.

I wandered around for a bit before I found her. She was at the bottom of the sweeping _cavea,_ sitting at the center of the stage with her indigo cloak pooling around her. I walked down the steps, wondering what on earth she was doing. It wasn't until I reached the bottom of the stage that I realized there were tears in her eyes. I stopped in my tracks at once, suddenly uncertain of what to say. Seeing her cry had always left me utterly bemused, for I was always torn between wanting to comfort her, and being forced to keep up my standoffish mask.

Selene seemed both surprised and dismayed to see me. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, wiping her eyes and rising swiftly to her feet.

I recovered quickly, smoothing my face and offering her my usual wry smile. "I saw the guards and thought there might be trouble inside," I lied swiftly. "I didn't realize you had come here to cry out your sorrows. But, I suppose that every tragedy deserves a stage."

Her voice was stern. "I'm not crying."

I raised my eyebrows at the lie. "My mistake."

"I came here to make some final plans," Selene said indignantly. "This area —" She pointed towards a section of _cavea_ seating, inventing wildly in a pitiful attempt to hide her tears. "— still needs a mosaic…And this stage…could use another glaze of polish…" Her voice trailed away then, and she stared at me for a long moment, as if I were some difficult puzzle she were trying to figure out. Then she pointed her finger at _me,_ and her voice rose in a startled gasp. "I know why you're here! Augustus wants you to spy on me!"

So, we were back to this nonsense again. I could not help but laugh at her foolishness. "Do you really imagine that I have so little to do with my time?"

"Then why aren't you packing?" she demanded. "Leaving for Mauretania on the next ship?"

The implication behind her words struck me like a shard of ice, and it could not have been clearer that the princess wanted me gone from Rome. _Looks as though Gallia owes me a bottle of wine after all,_ I thought bitterly.

I stepped back, and my voice was sharp as I said, "Perhaps I still have business in Rome, like making sure my slaves have a place to go when I'm gone." And without another word, I coldly swung around and walked back up the steps of the _cavea_ to wait with the other guards. We talked of the war in Cantabria as the rain fell around us, and the sky crackled with the dark hint of thunder. And when Selene finally announced to us that she was ready to leave, I said nothing to her, keeping my silence as we escorted her home.

* * *

Several weeks after Marcellus and Julia's wedding, when the heavy rains eased to a thin mist, I was summoned to Agrippa's Pantheon to oversee installation of the statues. I had acquired at least ten of them in the last few months — all Roman, with the exception of a single one made in Greece — and my vast search had brought me to almost every prominent collector and sculptor in the city. It had been a long but intriguing process, and I had been paid handsomely for their procurement. Now that they were in Agrippa's name, all that was left was to place them in their new home. So I pulled on a royal-blue cloak and winter boots that cold, misty morning, and began my journey towards the towering monument in the distance.

When I first saw the marble splendor of the Pantheon's interior, I was almost blown away. While the outside was a simple design of concrete and colonnades, the inside was absolutely magnificent. A floor of smooth, stark, black-and-white marble ran beneath my feet, broken by rectangular tiles of carnelian red and honeyed yellow. Mosaics bloomed with color around alcoves that were still empty, awaiting the statues that would soon fill them. The domed ceiling was almost overwhelming, vaulting its way to the skies, and I had to tilt my head back to take it all in: the smoothness of concrete mixed with travertine stone, the elaborate coffers cut into the rising walls, and finally, the single _oculus_ at the dome's center, admitting a solitary beam of light. The floor was even slightly convex, so that any rain pouring through the Pantheon's round opening would flow its way into the drains beneath it.

I crossed the chamber towards Vitruvius, who was watching the workers prepare the statue's niches with oiled polishing cloths. He wasn't alone — Selene, Gallia, and Octavia were with him, and their voices echoed in the hollowness of the domed space. Selene was gazing around the Pantheon with a look of amazement, as if she could not believe her eyes. Even Gallia was rapt with wonder.

"By the gods," she whispered in Gaulish.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" I said to her.

I felt Selene's questioning stare turn towards me. But the memory of our last meeting was still fresh in my mind, and I could not bring myself to look at her.

"He has come to inspect the statues for flaws and authenticity," Vitruvius explained to her. "They only arrived this morning."

I turned my attention to Gallia, opting for Gaulish instead of Latin. "So, how are things?"

"They're…" she began, and then her voice trailed away when she noticed something over my shoulder. "My goodness…Selene does _not_ look happy to see you."

"What a surprise."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Juba. I suppose she doesn't know any better. There's no denying the girl is being unnecessarily difficult, but you have to remember that realistically, she still thinks you're Augustus's right-hand man".

I let my gaze travel around the Pantheon before swiftly changing the subject. "You ought to bring Verrius here," I said stiffly. "It truly is remarkable." Then I moved away from her, not wanting to discuss Selene any further. I went to greet Octavia and Vitruvius first, and we spoke happily about the Pantheon's construction, everything from the materials used to the final date of completion. But I felt my stomach clench when I was finally forced to acknowledge Selene. She had raindrops in her curls and a smudge on her tunic, and she regarded me with a stony expression that likely mirrored my own.

"I don't believe there are any mosaics that need finishing," I said indifferently.

She raised her chin at me. "I am here to make measurements for the statues."

I turned to Vitruvius. "What?" I said with mock indignation. "You didn't think I would consider that before buying them?"

Vitruvius looked genuinely apologetic, but I slapped his back with a good-natured grin. "Of course," I laughed. "There is no point in hauling a marble statue across the chamber if it's going to be returned."

We began a short tour of the Pantheon with Gallia and Octavia, leaving Selene to assess the statue's measurements. She needn't have bothered; I'd already made sure each and every one would slide perfectly into their niches. This frustrated her, it seemed, and I could see that she'd been desperate to prove me wrong.

"Well?" I asked, standing over her expectantly.

"They're fine," she said shortly, rising to her feet and dusting her hands on her tunic.

Vitruvius smiled. "A perfect job," he praised. "And very handsome sculptures, Juba. Are they all Roman?"

I hesitated, glancing at the only statue I'd procured from Greece. It was an exquisite image of the goddess Venus, crafted by one of the most renown sculptors in the empire. But its extraordinary craftsmanship was not the only reason why I had selected it. The hooded green eyes and straight nose were reminiscent of the girl standing on Vitruvius's right hand side, gazing curiously up at the statue. But like the others, she did not seem to notice the resemblance. It was only Gallia, who knew of my feelings for Selene, that gasped aloud. She shot me a furtive glance as I answered Vitruvius's question. "Only the Venus is Greek," I said calmly. "For some reason, I was drawn to her face."

Selene continued to stare into the statue's eyes in confusion, and for a moment, I thought recognition might have flickered across her face. Then Gallia spoke carefully, aware that Octavia and Vitruvius were in the vicinity. "She reminds me of Caesar's mistress."

"Terentilla." I nodded. "Yes. Perhaps you're right."

* * *

News came swiftly from Iberia on the fifteenth birthday of Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios. Upon his return to Rome, Augustus would make it his foremost duty to arrange marriages for the twins. He left no notice of when this would happen, only that the princess Selene should make herself ready. When Octavia unfurled the scroll and echoed her brother's words over breakfast, I nearly spilled my glass of watered wine. Gallia glanced at me, but I kept my face neatly impassive, hoping my eyes wouldn't betray my nervousness.

I met with her in the hall shortly after the announcement, and she had to stop me with one hand to keep me from pacing wildly across the portico. "It's happening, Gallia," I said anxiously, running a hand through my dark hair. Although this was only marriage, I felt as if I was walking to war. "He's going to make Selene my queen…but nothing between us has changed. She still resents me."

"Maybe it's time to tell her everything," she said.

"I can't," I protested, shaking my head. "Not now, and especially not with the thousands of slaves Augustus will likely bring from Cantabria. I'll have to free them, and who knows what might happen then? I could be killed, and if Selene knows the identity of the Red Eagle, something far worse could happen to her as well."

Gallia sighed. "Then for now you'll just have the accept the marriage, resentment be damned. It's not as if she's marrying _Gorgon_ , for god's sake."

"You know, I'm pretty sure if she had to chose between me and a Gorgon, she'd pick the Gorgon."

Gallia could not help but laugh at my dry tone. "Oh, come on. Let's not worry about this for now — and who knows when Augustus will even return from Iberia, anyway?"

She had a point, but my thoughts were still spinning as I walked with her into the atrium, where we wished Alexander a _felicem diem natalem._ Selene was nowhere in sight, but I was glad to see her brother, who had always treated me respectfully. It was almost shocking how quickly he had grown over the years, shedding his boyhood to become a strapping young man. His skin was warm and tanned, his biceps lean beneath the folds of his tunic. His curls were sleek, his amber eyes as golden and glittering as his mother's. We talked of horses for a moment, until he mentioned he was going to the Circus to watch the races. When I reached into my cloak and handed him a sack of _denarii_ , he stared at me in shock.

"For you," I said. "And Lucius. Place as many bets as you'd like."

"Are you…are you _sure?_ " he gasped.

"Of course. It's not everyday you turn fifteen. And there's no one else who knows horsemanship like you do."

His eyes glowed with a mixture of pride and gratitude. "Thank you, Juba."

I grinned at him. "You know, if you earn a good amount of winnings today, perhaps we can speak with Augustus about getting you your own stallion."

The very thought seemed to stun him. "Really?" he asked eagerly.

"Of course. It's high time you've had a steed of your own."

"Selene will be jealous," he laughed.

"I wouldn't worry. Perhaps instead of a horse, we could let her build Marcellus something new. I think that would make her the happiest, don't you?" He chuckled at my joke, for I was certain he'd been forced to hear all about her infatuation over the years. I clapped him on the back good-naturedly, and then Gallia and I watched him sprint towards his friends. A group had appeared just beyond the portico, waiting for him. I could Selene standing among them, and I thought of the Egyptian sketchbook now sitting in my chamber, gathering dust. I would have given it to her as a birthday gift, but I decided against it. She'd have it someday, just as she'd have her mother's pearl necklace. But that would only happen when the Red Eagle could hang up his cloak, and finally settle down with the woman he loved more than life itself.

* * *

I spent the rest of the night in my villa with Verrius and Gallia, drinking pomegranate wine and analyzing news coming from the Cantabrian war. It seemed as though the soldiers had already taken an estimated number of five hundred slaves, although there were rumors that they had claimed even more.

"My confidant says they're kept in iron cages," I said, squinting at the scroll. "But he will be able to provide us with replicas of the keys."

Gallia turned to me. "So what do you suggest?" she demanded. "We free them the moment Caesar's procession enters the city? In front of the crowds — the people — _Augustus_ himself?"

"Yes," I said simply.

"We'll need a diversion," Verrius pointed out.

"A fire, perhaps?" I wondered, and then the three of us stared at one another in alarm when a horrible scream tore through the night. I was on my feet at once, my hand reaching for my blade. The screaming became that of a wail when we rushed outside, like something of a wounded animal. Gallia pointed a trembling finger towards Octavia's villa, where we could see the shadows of servants running back and forth, shouting at each other for lamplight. "Something's happened!" she cried.

But I could barely hear her; the blood rushed in my ears as I stared at the villa where both Selene and Alexander slept. Suddenly, I feared for the twins. I bolted up the steep slope with my dagger in hand, my cloak whipping along the wet grass behind me. Octavia's villa had descended into chaos; servants were running, sandals slapping along the marble floors. Someone was screaming for a physician, for hot water, for bandages. Octavia was clutching at the banister, doubled over as she sobbed into one trembling hand. Her daughters, Tonia and Antonia, stood frozen, their eyes stretched wide in uncomprehending horror. And everyone, Agrippa included, seemed to be making their way towards the chamber of Vitruvius's son, Lucius. For a moment, I was confused. And then I remembered the relationship between Alexander and Lucius. How much time they spent together. How cheerful and glowing they were in each other's presence. My pace quickened in the turmoil, and I ran to Agrippa, grasping him by the shoulder before he could step inside.

"What has happened?"

"An assassin," Agrippa said quietly. "The slaves say Alexander is dead."

We stared at each other for a long moment, our eyes heavy with remorse. Then we moved towards the chamber, where a girl's voice trembled into the din.

"No! No, no, _no!_ I'm here, I'm here, please wake up! Please don't leave me!"

 _Selene,_ I realized in panic. She was at the center of the room, clutching her brother's tunic as she sobbed into his chest. Alexander lay unmoving, his skin white as bone, his eyes empty and unseeing. Blood dripped from a vicious gash at his throat, staining the marble floors in red. I crossed the room in a state of dizzied horror, broken glass crunching beneath my boots. Although I had watched men die, and seen a number of grisly brutalities in war, the sight of Alexander nearly made me vomit. I couldn't bear to look at him — the way his body was splayed out, blood as dark as wine trickling from his mouth. Lucius was hunched over in the corner of the room, crying silently as the servants tended to his wounds. Vitruvius was frantic, touching his cheek and smoothing his hair. But his son said nothing, his face twisted in agony as he looked upon Alexander's lifeless body.

"We need to get Selene way from here," Agrippa said urgently, as his eyes regarded the grisly scene. "Now."

I did not need to be told twice; I walked straight to Selene and scooped her up in my arms. Tears must have blinded her, because she did not protest when I carried her out of the room and into the library. I felt her shiver in my arms, and it hurt me to see her in so much pain. Gently, I placed her on a couch and ordered someone to fetch her blankets. Agrippa had to turn away to hide his grief, and I knew he was lamenting the death of the boy who'd have made a fine warrior. I stood at the doorway with my sword drawn, ready to butcher anyone who might come for the second twin, while Gallia curled up like a cat around Selene, hugging her as she cried. We remained in the library for hours, until the grayish light of dawn began to slip its way through the windows. A servant brought some cold water, and Gallia pressed the cup into Selene's hands.

"Drink."

But Selene shook her head. "I can't."

"You've been crying all night," Gallia reasoned. "You need fluid."

She finally gave in, and I watched her raise the cup to her lips before turning to the witnesses Octavia had rounded up. I questioned them briefly, but no one seemed to be able to give a description of the assailant. It had happened so quickly, they said, and the assassin had vanished seconds after they'd heard the first screams. When it was clear they did not have any more information to give, I moved towards Selene. She was coiled up in a ball, staring listlessly at the cup in her hands. Her cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes heavy, hollow with grief. When she saw me sit beside her, she turned her face away.

"Selene," I said gently, and she closed her eyes. "I know you don't wish to speak, but if we're to find who did this—"

"Just tell me." Her voice quavered as she spoke, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her tight. "Is my brother…is my brother gone?"

I could not bring myself to answer her. Agrippa, too, kept his silence, though his eyes conveyed nothing but agony. Selene's eyes flew open when no one would answer. "Is he dead?" she cried.

It was Gallia who spoke, placing her gentle hand on Selene's shoulder. "Selene, he was attacked. He had no chance."

The greenness of Selene's eyes were suddenly swallowed in tears, and I felt a crushing weight in my heart as she sobbed into her hands. Agrippa rushed to her, unable to stand around and watch her cry. But he had barely put his arm around her shoulder before Selene sat up suddenly, blinking away the tears. "You want to know who did this?" she asked abruptly, all traces of sorrow gone from her voice.

"Yes," I said cautiously, exchanging a bewildered glance with Agrippa.

"Then find Octavia! Tell her to bring you Augustus's letter!" When I frowned at her, she shrieked at me, "Do you think I'm lying? Find Augustus's letter!"

A slave vanished into the hall, reappearing moments later with Octavia. There was a scroll in her hands, which she handed to Selene. "What do you want?" she asked nervously. "What's in the letter?"

Selene did not answer outright. Instead, she read the scroll aloud, " _When I return, it will be my foremost duty to see that a good marriage is made. Be sure to warn the Princess Selene, so that when the time comes she has made herself ready."_ She looked up at us, the tears falling heavily now, dripping into her tunic. "A good marriage," she cried. " _One!_ And why just one? Because he knew my brother would _never_ be married!" Octavia gasped, but Selene hadn't finished. She clenched the scroll with quivering hands and continued to read through her tears, "' _There is nothing nearly as momentous as the passing from childhood to adulthood, and it is an occasion that merits serious consideration.'_ If these words aren't a death sentence, then what is? He wanted Alexander dead! The last of the Ptolemies. Antony's son. And at fifteen, a man!"

"No!" Octavia cried. Then her voice fell to a whisper, quiet as waves brushing against stone. " _No_."

But Selene was right. And to be honest, it was a wonder Augustus had allowed Alexander to live for so long. The son of his greatest enemy, Marc Antony, would have posed a threat from the time of his birth until the day of his death. Regardless, it was despicable to keep Alexander alive simply for the sake of slaughtering him. It was sheer _cruelty._ I thought of his bright amber eyes that were so similar to his mother's, of his charming smile that captivated both men and women alike — and I felt a mixture of anger and sorrow billow in the back of my throat.

Agrippa's voice was firm. "We will find these men, and they will be tried."

But Selene did not seem to hear him; her skin had grown pale, and her eyes were oddly heavy, as if she were about to faint. I rose to my feet at once. "Leave the princess alone," I commanded, and everyone looked to me in surprise. "She needs her rest." Octavia hesitated, but my concern for Selene made me terse. "Go and tend to Lucius."

She left without another word, Agrippa at her side. Only Gallia and myself remained with Selene, as the dark clouds beyond the window threatened rain. We watched the poor girl collapse deeper into the couch, looking as though her entire world had been splintered apart. "How will I live without him?" she whispered.

Gallia placed a warm cloth on her head. "By getting some sleep."

"But I don't want to sleep!" Selene sat up, curls tumbling into her wild green eyes. "I want to see him."

"He's being dressed for burial."

"Where?" she cried. "In an unmarked grave? Beneath a plain tombstone on the Appian Way?" She looked up at me then, and I suddenly knew what she was going to say before she had even said it. I tried to brace myself, but her words still tore into me as she accused, "You must have known about this."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said quietly.

"Only one man on the Palatine kills for Augustus."

I was sick of it, was tired of her placing the blame on my shoulders when I'd done nothing wrong. My voice rose angrily as I met her dark, bloodshot eyes. "And that man isn't me."

But Selene was unconvinced. "I want you to leave," she said to me. And when I refused to move, her voice became a violent scream. " _I want you away from here!_ "

I had no words. I could only stare at her as the hurt came crashing down on my shoulders, threatening to knock me away. Of everything that had happened between us over the years, nothing could have wounded me more than this. I'd only been trying to help, to protect her — but she still wouldn't trust me, not even in her darkest of moments.

I turned on my heel and made for the door, feeling as if my ribs had been cracked in two. "Juba!" Gallia called after me, but I said nothing. I could hear her shouting at Selene as I hurried away, but I no longer cared what they were saying. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except getting away from here. I staggered through the halls as if I'd been injured, my breath ragged, heart pounding my chest. My boots tripped and stumbled their way past Octavia's villa, beyond the quiet pools and gleaming statues — though where I was going, I did not know. I simply had to place as much distance between myself and Selene as I possibly could — even if it meant crossing to the ends of the earth. I'd fight my way through forests and snowy mountains and foamy seas if I had to, just to be rid of this pain.

I don't know how long I wandered through the cold night. Gallia found me sometime later, hunched over in the dirt on the outskirts of the Palatine, gasping as if I had taken a blow to the stomach. She wordlessly took me in her arms and held me like a mother would a son, and it was in that moment that I finally allowed myself — a grown man, a vigilante — to cry.

* * *

 _Note_

Juba noooo :( And poor Alexander, I always liked him.

So this was a bit of a long chapter but there was so much material to cover! I'm pretty sure after this there will be two more chapters - one will be the big "finale" and the other will briefly pick up where Michelle Moran left off. Just for some closure, since I thought she ended the novel kind of abruptly. Thanks for reading!

Oh and some terms just for quick reference:

 **ofella(e).** Ancient Roman version of pizza made of baked dough, but without the tomatoes.

 **umbraculum.** An umbrella or parasol, typically carried by slaves for their wealthy Roman mistresses.

 **felicem diem natalem.** Happy Birthday


	26. Eagle

**Eagle**

* * *

The weeks following Alexander's death brought many changes across the Palatine, and none for the better. Hundreds of soldiers patrolled the grounds day and night, with many standing vigil outside Selene's chamber in an effort to safeguard the last Ptolemy twin. But the added security did nothing to ease the misery felt by all, clinging to the air like some kind of brooding mist. Alexander was gone, and with him, his endearing smile and laughter. Marcellus seethed, vowing vengeance on Livia — and Augustus, even. Lucius was almost inconsolable, and it was clear that the loss of his lover had taken a toll far greater than that of his wounds. Octavia, meanwhile, was heartbroken over Alexander's murder, and the reality that her brother could have orchestrated something so monstrous seemed to have stricken her.

And as for Selene…it went without saying that she was suffering worst of all. The princess had lost the only family she had left. Her mother, father, and brothers had all perished at the hands of Augustus. And in the wake of Alexander's murder, she was rarely seen by anyone. She ate alone, she worked alone, and her dinners were brought to her chambers after she'd refused to come to dinner for five consecutive nights. I worried about her, as did Octavia, but Gallia assured me she would be alright. Grief manifested itself in different ways, she said, and Selene had turned her pain inward, seeking to isolate herself rather than have the comfort and support of others.

Alexander's death changed me as well. I began to feel like a stranger not only to myself, but to everyone around me. When I stood in the mirror, I didn't recognize the man with the dark eyes staring back at me. Juba was steadily deteriorating, crumbling away to reveal the stone-faced, vengeful Red Eagle. Furious at Alexander's death, I wrote various acta over the next few months, condemning the imperial family as murderers, who treated their guests like slaves one day and slaughtered them like pigs in the next. And although Gallia tried to convince me the murder was not my fault, I could not help but feel as if I shouldered much of the blame. I should have known what was to come; _I_ was the one who had Augustus's ear, after all. I should have realized his intentions in that letter. And if I had, I — or at least, the Red Eagle — would have been able to help him escape, to flee the depravity Rome and never look back.

But I'd been too late.

I'd failed Alexander and Selene. That much was clear. When they were first brought to Rome, I'd sworn to protect them. To be their guard, their sentinel. To lay my life down for theirs should they ever be threatened. I'd seen myself in their lost, frightened eyes, and they had reminded me of the day that I, too, had been conquered, left orphaned by my enemies and forced to work for the tunic on my back. I'd provided the twins with enough gold to support them over the next fifteen years, hoping they'd be able to live comfortably, and without the woes of financial hardship. I'd watched them from afar, no closer to them than a spec of dust caught on a fleeting wind — but I'd always been there to assure Augustus they posed little threat, or to derail Livia whenever she attempted to work up another harmful scheme. I'd saved Selene — killing the man who had attempted to rape her so many nights ago on the Palatine — and I would have saved brother if I'd had the chance.

But Alexander was dead now, brutally murdered right under my nose, and the guilt that drilled into me was absolutely vicious. I would never forgive myself.

Simple tasks like eating and sleeping had become a chore. I'd tried to turn to horses to ease the pain inside of me, for it had always been something that had soothed me, ever since I'd been a child. But not even my steed's dark, serene eyes could bring me calm. It was as if a volcano had been confined to my body, and I could feel it billowing with vicious smoke and glowing ash, charring my flesh as it gutted me from the inside. Destroyed everything in its path, until only grief and rage remained. My thoughts turned to a time long ago, when I was but a child in Numidia and a terrible sandstorm had blown in from the east. We'd holed ourselves up in the largest chamber of the palace for three days, and the servants had barred the windows with wooden slats, but I could still see streams of sand trickling through the smallest cracks. The howling winds had terrified me. But for my father — who'd been borne from the desert and its glittering sand — their noises seemed to give him strength. He'd held me and smoothed back my dark hair while my mother tended to my brother I could still recall his words even now.

 _"You've nothing to fear, Juba. Sandstorms are a means of cleansing the earth. Listen as it grows and roars. It is a strength that no man can replicate. And while it may frighten you now, just know that when the sand finally settles, everything will be made calmer and clearer than before."_

How his words rang true, even now, as a different sort of storm raged around me. And as the days passed, something else became increasingly clear: I could never be with Selene. I remembered the way she'd screamed at me, hurt me, accused me of murdering her brother. It didn't matter how many times I tried to make things right, to remedy how cold and harsh and unfair I'd been forced to treat her in her youth. She would always see me as Augustus's cohort, and I was certain that nothing would change that. Not by giving back her necklace, not revealing myself as the Red Eagle, nothing. As far as she was concerned, I was just as heinous Augustus. And now she would have nothing to do with me. So I would have no choice but to let her go.

* * *

I explained my thoughts to Gallia the morning after Alexander's funeral. We stood outside the mausoleum of the murdered Prince of Egypt, dressed in all black and ignoring the icy rain dripping around us. We'd been the first to leave, but most of the procession remained inside the cool depths of the tomb, Selene and Lucius included. When the cover of Alexander's sarcophagus had slid shut, hiding his beautiful curls and peaceful face for an eternity, Selene had stumbled, as if about to faint. Marcellus steadied her before she could fall, but I'd still flinched, fearing for her. Seeing the princess in so much pain was torment. But I had to remind myself that there would always be distance between us, as hopelessly vast as the sea.

Now, standing out in the rain and away from the grieving princess, I told Gallia of my intentions. Her eyes widened, and she quickly ushered me away from the mourners into a thin alleyway where we would not be overheard.

"You cannot be serious," she whispered in Gaulish.

"I am," I said. "I can't be with her, Gallia. Not after all this. And you know it's true."

"Absolutely not," Gallia protested. "Juba, Augustus _intends_ for you to marry Selene! He's had his mind set for years, do you really think he'll change it now?"

"Of course. Marriages can be made and broken on a whim."

She looked outraged. "Well, what are you going to tell him?"

"I will tell him no." My voice was quiet, lost in the patter of the rain. I watched it drip into the flagstone walkway beneath us, stirring the rivulets of water gathered in the cracks. "He values my judgment above anyone, and so I will explain to him that Selene would be better off marrying someone else."

"You cannot do that!" Gallia cried. "What if Livia convinces Augustus to marry her to someone vile — just as she did with Horatia? Selene can't end up with someone like Pollio!"

"And she can't end up with someone she thinks murdered her brother." Gallia opened her mouth to argue, but I shook my head. "It's over, Gallia. It's done. I'll help advise Augustus in making as good a marriage for Selene as I can, but I won't be the one to wed her." I glanced towards the end of the alleyway; people were beginning to emerge from the mausoleum, and I could see Selene among them, her curls visible in the falling rain. "In the meantime, I'm going to focus all of my efforts on Rome. The slaves need the Red Eagle, now more than ever. And so I must be ready to protect them."

"The slaves need the Red Eagle, yes, but the princess needs _you,_ Juba."

"No." I refused to hear it. I'd made up my mind, and now I felt calmer and clearer, like a street washed clean by rain. "Gallia, I can't keep dwelling on this. I need to consider what's going to happen when Augustus returns from war with his two thousand slaves in tow. I'll have to free them, and who knows what might happen to me?"

"Nothing will happen to you!" she protested. "Stop it!"

But my voice was calm. "I may be a revolutionary, but I am no god," I told her. "Death is inevitable. But I would welcome it, if it means saving thousands of lives in return." Tears came to Gallia's eyes, and I pulled her into a hug. When she wept into my shoulder, I said quietly, "Please, Gallia. Please try to understand. I've found my place. It's not with Selene, it's not in Mauretania. It's here in Rome, fighting for the people."

She stepped back, nodding and wiping her eyes. "I care for you, Juba. I only wanted to see you settle in your kingdom with the woman you love."

I smiled thinly. "Perhaps in another life. But not this one." I held out my hand, and she took it without pause. "Now come with me. There is one last thing I want to do before I make preparations for Augustus's return."

We left the mausoleum and made our way through the crooked avenues of the Forum, towards the cluster of marble villas adorning Capitoline Hill. "We're going to meet a friend of mine," I explained to Gallia, who was staring around at the sweeping colonnades and glittering mosaics with a look of confusion. "Silus. His studio is not far from here. He's an incredible sculptor, and I've commissioned several works from him in the past. I'd like to request one more, but I need your help."

I led her through the side streets until we came to a little alley wreathed in ivy. At the end stood an iron gate, and beyond it, the marble head of a lion, water trickling from its maw into a rectangular pool. I held the gate open for Gallia, and together we walked along the marble path leading to Silus's home. We found him standing with a broom on his portico, sweeping rainwater and soaked leaves from the top step. He was a tall, thin man, with olive skin and a mess of black curls. Beneath his bushy eyebrows was a hooded gaze that made him look haughty — but that haughtiness turned to interest the moment he saw me.

"So it's you, is it?" he demanded, leaning the broom against the wall. "Was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, Juba. It's almost as if you _only_ come around when you want something."

"Naturally," I said with a smile. "I try to avoid your company as much as I can, Silus."

He laughed at this. "As charming as ever! Now get inside, there's no need to stand around in this dreadful rain." He ushered us inside his studio, and Gallia's eyes grew wide with wonder as she gazed around. Rows and rows of wooden shelves held an assortment of busts, some complete, others half-finished. Enormous blocks of marble dotted the floor, and tables were scattered with tools — chisels, bottles of polish, heavy wooden mallets. Everything, I noticed, was covered by a thin layer of filmy dust — even Silus himself. And at the very center of the room, there stood the towering sculpture of a beautiful woman dressed in a long _stola_ , the marble contours of her arms and legs gleaming like wet rock in the pale daylight.

Silus had us sit at a dusty couch in the corner of the room, where he passed us a plate of _ofellae._ "So, mind telling me why you've come to _grace_ me with your presence, your majesty?"

"I'd like to commission a statue," I said at once, and he sat up eagerly. "It is in memory of Alexander Helios, who was killed a week ago."

Silus was nodding, his face solemn. "Yes, I heard about that…have they said who killed the boy?"

My voice was scathing. "The emperor saw him as a threat. So he had him murdered. After all, that's what emperors do."

"Such a shame. I heard the boy was very handsome."

"He was. And he was taken far too soon."

Silus stood sharply and began rummaging around the room, throwing tools and objects to the floor in his haste. When he returned, he had a pen and a sketchbook in hand. "Here," he said brusquely. "Draw Alexander's likeness for reference. If the sketch is sufficient, I'll get started on his sculpture right away."

I turned to Gallia. "I cannot draw to save my life, so I need you," I explained. "You spent quite a lot of time with the children, and I think you will be able to capture Alexander's features perfectly."

Although Gallia looked uncertain, she took the pen and book without protest. While she sketched, I wandered the room with Silus at my side, curious to see what he was working on next. He had always been my favorite sculptor, as his sharp eye was able to catch every little detail, seamlessly blending marble with realism. At length I listened to him talk of his most recent projects, until we went to check on Gallia. Her fingers were smudged with ink, and half her face was hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair as she worked. When she finally held up her drawing of Alexander, I could not help but smile. Silus clapped his hands together, and I could see that he was enthralled by the fallen prince's dark curls and full lips. "Magnificent," he breathed. "I shall have the sculpture ready within the next few months."

* * *

Weeks passed, with Selene continuing to shut herself away in her chamber, and it wasn't until late April when Silus informed me that the statue had been completed. When I first arrived at his studio, and he pulled away a velvety sheet to reveal his masterpiece, I was in such a state of shock that I nearly stumbled backwards. It was as if Alexander himself stood before me, encased in glittering marble, his amber eyes just as bright as they'd been when he was alive. I felt a tightening in my chest then, the sadness and guilt sweeping through me like flood waters.

"Juba?" Silus glanced in my direction. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine," I lied. "I am just…overwhelmed. Your work is stunning, Silus."

He snorted. "Stunning, yes, but here's hoping it's enough to get you to visit from time to time." He shot me a sly glance. " _And_ to get you to pose for me someday."

I could not help but laugh. "As what? A sea creature? Do you _want_ your reputation to be swept into the gutters?"

Silus rolled his eyes. "Considering how often the women talk about you in the Forum, I'm certain my reputation wouldn't be damaged in the _slightest_ ," he remarked. "On the contrary, it would improve hundredfold."

"Perhaps," I said distantly. And then I gripped his arm tight. "Thank you, my friend. This means than you'll ever know."

Silus's workers and two of my own men — Atellus and Corvus, supporters of the Red Eagle's cause — helped deliver the statue to Alexander's mausoleum that morning, placing it gently beside the sarcophagus. There it would stand for an eternity, a reminder of the beautiful prince slain by Augustus's hand. My men left me to grieve, and I stood in the darkness of the mausoleum for hours before beginning a slow, solemn walk home. I knew Selene visited her brother's tomb almost everyday, and sure enough, I spotted her leaving the Palatine just as I was reaching it. She was still dressed in the black robes of mourning. Two guards were at her side, and even at a distance I could recognize Atellus's dark skin and Corvus's flaxen hair.

I ought to have gone straight to my villa then, but the fool in me chose to walk towards Selene instead. It was unwise, certainly, but I'd not had the chance to speak properly with her after her brother's death. The least I could do was offer my formal condolences…even if I was still the last person she wanted to see.

"What?" Selene demanded coldly of me, and I immediately regretted my decision. "Are you here to kill me as well?"

Atellus looked shocked. I stole an uneasy glance at him before turning to Selene. "I hope you're joking." I said.

"Augustus saved my brother like a bull for the slaughter, so why shouldn't I be next? And who better to do the job than you?"

Her words were absolutely venomous, and I could only stare wearily at her while the guards exchanged expressions of disbelief. An uncomfortable silence settled over us before I leaned to Corvus and whispered, "When you and Atellus are finished, come to my villa. There is much to discuss." Then I left without another word, with Selene's cold eyes of hatred still burning in my mind.

That afternoon I met with Verrius, Gallia, Atellus, and Corvus in the shaded courtyard of my villa. A messenger had brought the news earlier that day: the Cantabrian war had been won, and Augustus would return to Rome sometime in the coming weeks. But that wasn't all. Aside from usual spoils of war — gold, jewels, priceless artifacts — our _triumphant_ emperor would also be bringing fifty thousand slaves from the Alpine Salassi tribe along with him. It would be the Red Eagle's duty to organize their escape. So far, everything was in place: we had the keys to the cages, with over a hundred copies forged from a master key provided by Atellus's centurion father. We had the uniforms, stolen from the armory to disguise my followers amongst the legionnaires. And we had diversions set in place — Verrius would lead a group to the top of the Basilica Julia, where they would set fire to the rooftops in an effort to distract the guards. Meanwhile, I would remain with my men on the streets, helping them to free the slaves.

We were so immersed with our planning that we didn't notice the time; dinner at Octavia's villa was soon to begin. I almost considered skipping the feast altogether, but it was only after Gallia's protests that I moodily went to fetch my cloak. As we were preparing to leave, Corvus took me aside. "Juba, I must confess. Earlier today I may have said more to the Princess Selene than I honestly should have." I waited patiently, and he explained, "Atellus and I told her that it was you who commissioned the statue of Alexander. And…that you've been the one putting the _denarii_ in her treasury." His deep brown eyes searched my face, filled with discomfort. "Forgive me, sir. I'd thought she'd known this entire time."

"That's quite alright," I said, clapping my hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps it's time she's learned the truth. I thank you, Corvus."

When we reached Octavia's villa, Gallia was called away to Selene's chamber. "I wonder if this means we'll finally see the princess tonight," Verrius said curiously, and although I tried to appear indifferent, I could feel the quickening of my heartbeat, the heat rising in my skin. I tried to keep my expression carefully neutral, but the amused glint in Verrius's eyes told me I'd failed.

Dinner swelled with its usual splendor of fine wines and foods, the plates made heavy by assorted shellfish, meats, and roasted vegetables. But while everyone chatted beneath the lamplight, I sat quiet and tense, my face as solemn as if I were staring into the face of war. I'd just taken a sip of water when there was a sudden hush, and the Princess Selene entered the triclinium _._ She'd discarded her black clothes of mourning for a tunic of deep violet embroidered in gold. Her curls gleamed as darkly as Egyptian kohl, and I could see the soft glow of blue azurite on her eyelids. A space was made for her next to me, of all people, and it was with great effort that I ignored her for most of the dinner. Her words still echoed in my head, digging into me like bits of broken glass: _Augustus saved my brother like a bull for the slaughter, so why shouldn't I be next? And who better to do the job than you?_

As the hall filled with mindless babble, and the guests ate their fill of oysters and roasted ostrich, she finally turned to me.

"I was wrong," she murmured.

I finally forced myself to look at her. But my voice was short as I said, "About what?"

"You," Selene whispered. Her eyes darted across my face, taking in everything from my hair to my eyes to my lips. There was a tenderness in her gaze that I had never seen before. I was suddenly aware of how close she was to me; our tunics were brushing, and her long, slanting, green eyes seemed to swallow me whole. "I underestimated your…your generosity. And the statue of my brother was very kind."

"It wasn't for you," I said curtly. "That was for Alexander."

A deep blush spread across her cheeks. "Either way. It was very thoughtful and —"

"Make no mention of it," I said, cutting her off.

I might have appeared indifferent in her eyes, but on the inside I was reeling. This could not be happening. Not now. Not when the Red Eagle was in the midst of planning the freedom of thousands of slaves, likely sentencing himself to death in the process. I clenched my teeth, silently willing myself to be strong. I could not grow soft now. I could not be swayed by love. I had a job to do, and it was my responsibility to bring justice to those crushed beneath the powers of Rome. I stood swiftly and announced to the tables, "It is time for me to say _valete_. There is a great deal to prepare if Augustus is approaching."

"He's coming back?" Selene exclaimed. No one had told her, it seemed.

I nodded gravely. "With fifty thousand members of the Alpine Salassi."

"As prisoners of war?"

"Slaves," Tiberius told her. "Although only Juno knows where they're going to fit in a city already swimming with Gauls."

I excused myself then, retiring to my villa and struggling not to think of Selene. How beautiful and strong she'd looked this evening. How that might be the last time I'd ever see her alive, since who knew if Fortuna would be at my side come tomorrow? And when I was joined by Verrius and Gallia that night, in addition to a handful of my most loyal men, I swore to them we would be the ones to bring change to Rome. Everything was falling into place, I said. All that was left was to wait for our dearest emperor to arrive.

* * *

It wasn't until one cold morning in May when word was sent from the walls of Rome: Augustus had returned. I felt myself descend into a strange calm as I went around my villa, finishing any last minute preparations. I embraced Sergius and gently teased the old man when he cried for me. I placed the keys to the slave cages in a large pouch and tied them to my belt. Then I donned the garb of a legionnaire, everything from the plumed helmet to the scarlet cloak, trailing along the ground at my feet. The mask I'd have to save for later, but for now I made sure I was as every bit a soldier as the men marching into the streets of Rome.

I stood in the atrium for a short moment, studying my dagger, the last known relic from my former kingdom. It gleamed under the silvery sun, and I held my breath as light rippled from the polished tip of the ivory blade all the way to the ebony handle, which was inlaid with the iridescent sheen of mother-of-pearl. Upon every boy's coming of age, they would be given a weapon from their forefathers, and this dagger had once belonged to my ancestor, King Masinissa. The first king of Numidia. Legend said that it had been carved from the tusk of his finest war elephant, shortly after it had died of old age. When I had come of age, my father had passed the dagger to me. Now I would use it to defend myself as I thrust myself into Rome's graffiti-ridden streets, ready to spring the innocent from slavehood. And when I tucked it in my belt, I thought of my father, knowing that he would be proud to see his son defy the Romans in such a way.

Everything was falling into place, but there was one last matter to attend to as well. I went to the Cretan chest in my chamber and removed Selene's necklace. I held it to the light for a moment, then used a small cloth to wipe the dust from each pink sea pearl. When I was certain the necklace was pristine and gleaming, I placed it inside a small black box and scribbled out a note to attach to the lid.

 _In case tomorrow never comes,_ I wrote, knowing fully well that I might not survive the day. It didn't matter how hard I'd tried to deny it, to forget her and focus on Red Eagle matters instead. I was in love with Kleopatra Selene. And nothing would ever change that.

I held the box to my heart as I walked quietly to Octavia's villa. I didn't need to worry about anyone seeing me; the Palatine was empty, its inhabitants streaming into the Forum to catch a glimpse of their victorious emperor. When I reached Selene's chamber, I could not help but smile at her decor. She'd gone out of her way to hide Rome beneath her own Egyptian microcosm: the walls were swathed in red silk, there were bronze incense burners shaped like sphinxes, and I could even see a small ankh hanging above her couch. It was strange, I must admit, being here in her private quarters. But I walked purposefully to the couch and left her the box with my note, hoping that this would be enough to show my love for her.

My journey to the Forum was not an easy one. The streets were thick with crowds, and the roar of their voices was almost deafening. It was a relief when I finally slipped into the small, quiet alley leading into an abandoned bakery, where Verrius and six dozen Red Eagle followers were waiting for me. They were all dressed in legionnaire armor, their eyes full of readiness, of purpose. It wasn't until I passed around the keys that we all donned our black masks. Verrius and I embraced, knowing fully well this might be the last moment we'd see each other alive. Then he proceeded to the Basilica Julia with a handful of men, while I led the rest of the streets of the Forum, towards Augustus's procession.

We blended into the army easily, marching alongside the slave cages as Augustus's chariot glided forward, and the war trumpets blared into the cool morning air. The sight of the weeping Gauls — trapped behind iron bars with dirt and filth smeared across their skin — was absolutely sickening. There were thousands of them, adults and children alike. We would not be able to free them all, I knew, but we had to try. And when the cages were finally rolled into the courtyard of the Basilica Julia, I nodded at my men. It was time. We spread out, slipping our way through the procession and quietly unlocking cage after cage. No one noticed us in the commotion: everyone was too busy waving and cheering for their emperor, who stood before them in a painted face vermilion.

My men and I spoke in Gaulish, instructing the slaves to remain in their cages until we gave the signal. Their blue eyes were wide, frozen in shock, but I could see hope buried there. That made me keep working, unlocking every cage I could reach.

It wasn't long before a centurion realized what was happening.

"They're escaping!" he shouted from the tops of the basilica's steps. "The prisoners are escaping! It's the Red Eagle! He's there, he's right _there!"_

It was time to act. Glancing around at the unlocked cages, I commanded in Gaulish, " _Go!"_

A chorus of clanging metal struck the air like thunder as the Gauls kicked and shoved their doors to the side. Soldiers rushed forward, but it was too late; they were pushed aside in the ensuing chaos, powerless as hundreds of slaves fled into the streets. Panic gripped the basilica's courtyard, and my men swiftly discarded their masks. I could hear Augustus shouting something, and suddenly the imperial soldiers — uncertain who was on their side and who wasn't — fired indiscriminately into the crowd. I attempted to dodge their hail of arrows, but I was too late: one of them burrowed deep into the flesh of my shoulder, making me stagger.

"He's been hit!" I heard someone shriek in the distance.

I started to run then, ignoring the blood streaming down my tunic. It wasn't until I'd leaped over the courtyard's hedges that a woman screamed, "The basilica's on fire!" My eyes traveled to the top of the building, where dark crimson flames ripped across the tiled roof, spitting clouds of smoke into the air. Verrius had been successful, it seemed. And as I ran, I could only hope that he and the rest of my men were safe, long gone from the chaos of the Forum.

I stumbled my way through the fearful hordes of people, clutching in agony at my wounded arm. No one seemed to notice the Red Eagle limping his way along the crowds — they were too busy fleeing from the fire. Blood dripped along the marble stones behind me as I continued to run, and it wasn't until I reached the quiet darkness of an abandoned shop that I was finally able to catch my breath.

I ripped off my mask and glanced down at the arrow in my shoulder, grimacing. Of course it would have to come out. The soldiers had seen the Red Eagle take an arrow to the arm. If I were to return to the Palatine with a similar wound, it wouldn't take much to put two and two together. So I grasped the arrow with one hand and gritted my teeth, gently easing it out of my torn flesh. It was agonizing work, and the hot blood streaming from the wound was almost nauseating, but at last I was able to free both the shaft and the arrowhead from the depths of my arm. I threw it to the ground with a clatter, closing my eyes as I heaved for breath. But I had barely a second to rest before the door flung open, and the sound of quick footsteps came rushing inside.

My bloodied hands reached for my knife, then stopped when I recognized Selene. Even in the shadows, I could see the way her eyes were wide with fear. I turned my face away from her then, my heart beating, hoping she hadn't recognized me.

"Go!" I rasped at her.

But she refused to move. "I'm here to help you!"

"How?" I demanded. "By getting yourself killed?"

"No!" she gasped. "There's a tunnel. It leads to the House of Vestrals, and from there you can escape."

"Then tell me where it is, and get yourself out of here."

She shook her head, her curls sweeping into her face. "I can't describe it. You'll have to trust me."

I hesitated. The very notion of letting Selene risk her life to help me was harrowing. But we had little time, and I was losing more and more blood by the minute. I finally turned my face to her, and she cried my name in shock.

" _Juba!"_

"Who did you think you would find?" I asked grimly. "Marcellus?"

Selene ignored this and leaned over me, studying my wound. Then she gripped the end of her tunic and tugged, ripping off a piece of the fabric. She knelt before me and wrapped the scrap around my arm like a makeshift bandage, around and around until my blood soaked it to red. Her hands trembled when she touched me, and I heard her say, "But the man who saved us in the Forum Boarium was blond. Even Julia saw him."

My voice was sharp. "And there are such things as wigs."

"Then what about the actum while you were in Gaul?" she whispered.

"There are others who seek an end to slavery as well." I stood very still as she tied my bandage, her curls brushing my chest. "That's enough," I said heavily, and she looked up from my arm to stare straight into my eyes.

"Where is the point?" she asked.

My eyes slid to the blood-soaked arrow on the floor, and she stood at once, offering me her arm. "Can you run?"

"Yes," I murmured, and together we rushed into the fiery Basilica Julia, crossing through the heat and rising smoke. I could feel myself growing weaker, grasping at Selene's arm as I struggled to stay on two feet. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my arm seemed to burn as if it, too, were on fire. But if I leaned too heavily on her, she did not complain. Instead she held me tight as we ran past the basilica's rows of courts and shops, deeper into the blackness of thickening smoke. A beam broke from its mooring, nearly missing us as it tumbled to the ground in a shower of glittering sparks. I feared not for myself, but for Selene. We couldn't stay here. Not when I was too weak to protect her. Not when the roar of fire scalded the rafters high above, threatening to swallow us in a blaze of violent, searing red.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" I demanded, when she paused.

"I've seen the sketch more than a dozen times," she said firmly, and I wondered if she knew of its existence because of her involvement with Vitruvius.

Selene led me inside a silk merchant's _taberna_ and desperately glanced around. Clothes and shopping bags were strewn across the floor, remnants of customers who had fled the fire. I leaned against a counter, clutching at my arm as she gathered a fresh woman's tunic in her arms.

"Where is the tunnel?" I asked.

"I don't know!" she cried. "But it's here."

We looked around the shop, searching. Then something caught my eye: a heavy red curtain had been draped over the wall behind the counter. Of course. I swept it to one side, revealing a heavy wooden door with a burnished handle. I stepped inside first, scanning the dark tunnel for danger. When I was certain it was clear, I leaned on Selene's arm once again and allowed her to guide me through. There was no light here, only the ink-black of impenetrable darkness, and so we had to brush our hands along the walls as we walked. The air wafting through the dank tunnel was cold and stale, and now it carried the coppery tang of my blood. We had barely gone a few steps before I stopped and turned to Selene, remembering the crimson staining her tunic after she'd bandaged me. "You should change."

Wordlessly she began to undress before me, and although I could not see her in the darkness, I turned my head away. I could not help but remember the last time I'd seen her almost naked, standing in her breastband and loincloth before the crystal-blue waters of the Capri. But that had seemed like a lifetime ago. How strange it was to think of how much had changed between us after today.

"What should I do with the bloodied — ?"

"Give it to me," I said quickly. "Now hurry."

As we continued through the dark tunnel, and my breath grew more labored with each step, Selene asked, "Where will you go when we reach the temple?"

"To the Palatine."

"And how will you explain your wound?"

"The soldiers were shooting at everyone," I said shortly. "They'll simply think I was in their way."

"But will Augustus believe it?" she worried.

I was unsure, and so I could not bring myself to answer her. I felt her grip tighten on my arm as we kept walking. At length a second wooden door appeared, and I took a moment to draw my dagger from its sheath. There was little light here, pressing through the cracks in the door, and I could see Selene's eyes widen as I passed the weapon into her hands.

"What's this for?"

"You don't remember your first trip down the Palatine alone?" I said, recalling the heavyset man who had attempted to violate her in the woods.

"But that was at night!"

"And do you think criminals disappear in the day?" I demanded. She fell silent then, and I held her gently by the shoulders as I promised, "I'll be behind you. But you must leave first. When the path is clear, I want you to whistle. Then start walking. All the way to the Palatine."

I could not help but admire her bravery as she took the dagger. And although her hands were trembling like a storm, the determination in her eyes was set. She was ready. I watched her slip the blade into her belt before opening the door to the Temple of Vestra. She looked back at me once, her eyes full of concern. And then she was gone, stepping out into the blinding light while I kept to the shadows, waiting to follow her.

* * *

 _Note:_

Another long chapter but I couldn't stop writing! We're almost to the end! I'm a bit sad to leave this world behind. It's been fun writing about Juba.

I appreciate everyone sticking along so far, even after I took a long break from updating :) Thank you to Judy L Laura, and also to Issy H! I really appreciate your kind words. Michelle Moran is a fantastic writer and I definitely wanted to explore the characters she created.


	27. Fever

**Fever**

* * *

I stood very quietly, shrouded in the cold darkness of the tunnel as Selene began a timid walk across the courtyard. Her footsteps echoed along the wide sweep of marble, soft yet purposeful, the only sound save for terrified shouts ringing the distance. Ashes drifted through the air and dusted Selene's curls, remnants of the basilica now gutted by fire. I thought of the chaos that had gripped the streets of Rome only seconds before we'd managed to escape: the freed Gauls spilling from their iron cages, the confusion as the guards were unable to distinguish my men from their own, and of course, the blinding rage and disbelief on Augustus's face in the midst of disorder, watching as his own authority crumpled beneath him. The Red Eagle still had much to do in the aftermath of the liberation — and yet, I simply did not care. All that mattered now was Selene, and even as I stood hunched over with a wounded arm, sweat clinging to my blistering forehead, my sole priority was seeing her reach the safety of the Palatine unscathed.

Selene disappeared behind a colonnade then, and I pressed my back against the wall to steady myself, waiting. Seconds passed before her low whistle caught the air, signaling the all-clear. I stepped from the tunnel and limped towards the temple's marble portico, ignoring the pain ripping through the tendons of my right arm. The street was streaming with people, some fleeing the fire and heavy smoke, others foolishly running towards the Basilica Julia to catch a glimpse of the flames. I could see Selene weaving through the current of bodies, plainly visible with her thick curls and saffron-colored tunic. No one seemed to pay her any mind; the pandemonium was too great, with people stumbling over themselves and children sobbing in the streets. And although she was armed, she likely wouldn't have to use the dagger I'd given her. I might have been limping, with my breaths coming up short and ragged — but even so, if anyone dared to lay so much as a finger on her, I wouldn't hesitate to crush their neck with my bare hands.

I kept my distance as I followed Selene through the Forum, with my head down and my boots whispering through the dust. I was lucky I was so tall, able to see over the teeming streets with ease. And when she turned into an twisting alleyway or hurried down the steps of a slanting street, I went along with her. But I was careful and decisive, making sure there was a great deal of space between our footsteps — but not enough that I'd lose sight of her in the frenzied crowds.

Eventually the Palatine came into view, and I was finally able to heave a sigh of relief as Selene scampered towards Octavia's villa. And although I wanted nothing more than to follow her, I forced myself to cross the lawns to the quiet sanctuary of my own home. The searing pain in my arm had become little more than a dull throbbing now, with most of the blood soaking into the bandage. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, and at once Sergius came rushing forward. He took one look at my arm and gasped in shock, " _Domine!"_

I shrugged. "It's worse than it looks, Sergius. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? Don't _worry?"_ He raged, and at once he was rushing around trying to gather hot water and towels, his sandals slapping the tiles in an angry beat. "You come in here looking like that — absolutely _drenched_ in blood — and you expect me not to worry? Are you mad?" I could not help but smile in spite of myself, watching as the old servant who cared so much for me stomped around. "I am halfway to a heart attack, boy!"

"I apologize, Sergius. That was a very poor choice of words on my part."

"You think?" he grumbled, running one of the towels beneath a jet of steaming water. He glanced at me for a moment, and when his eyes lingered on the blood smeared across my arm, they grew soft with concern. "Sit down," he commanded, and I did so at once. I remained seated on the couch as he removed Selene's makeshift bandage and pressed the hot, soaked towel against the wound, cleaning the thick coating of blood that had gathered there. I grimaced, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting. Sergius's water-gray eyes, set deep into a pool of wrinkles, squinted at me. "Tell me what happened. Did anyone see you? Are you in danger?"

"No, I believe I am safe for the moment," I said, and I groaned as a current of fire shot through my nerves, rippling from my shoulder all the way to my fingertips. The pain was raw and angry, like that of a lightning strike. "Caesar's soldiers fired on the crowds when they realized my men were hiding amongst them. One of their arrows hit my shoulder, but I managed to draw it out in one piece."

"So how did you get here? Did Verrius help you?"

"No, he was with the men at the Basilica Julia. They set fire to its roof and then fled, although I am not sure if he's returned to the Palatine yet."

"I don't understand. So you came here _alone?"_

I shook my head. "I have a certain stubborn girl to thank for saving my life," I said, and when he frowned at me, I explained, "Selene. She ran after me when she saw I'd been hit. She bandaged my arm to stop the bleeding, then helped me flee through some sort of secret passageway leading from the Julia Basilica to the Temple of Vestrals." Sergius's jaw plummeted, and I could not help but manage a small, exhausted laugh. "It seems her apprenticeship with Vitruvius comes in handy in more ways than one."

"And so you returned to the Palatine with her?"

"In a way," I said. "I had her walk by herself, while I followed at a distance. I'm certain someone noticed her run after the wounded Red Eagle, and so if the two of us had returned at the same time, only a fool would fail to realize that I am him."

Sergius was nodding. He dipped the bloodied cloth into a basin of water, and I watched as its clear contents suddenly bloomed with red. I could see the wound clearly, now that most of the blood had been wiped away: my flesh was twisted and torn, cut away to reveal a small slimmer of bone. Sergius's eyes were heavy with worry. "You will need stitches," he fretted.

"Verrius should be able to help."

"Shall I send for him?"

"No." My voice was firm. "Not yet, it's too much of a risk."

"Then what in the name of the gods are you going to do about your arm?" Sergius practically shouted at me, and I knew his concern for my health was drawing out his frustration.

"We'll keep it bandaged," I said. "Selene knows what happened, and she's close to Gallia. Perhaps she'll be able to tell her I've been wounded." Although Sergius looked deeply troubled, he did not protest the matter any further. Instead he went to fetch some fresh linen bandages, which he wrapped carefully around my arm. I sank into the pillows of the couch and closed my eyes. I could feel my head throbbing sharply, as if it were glass about to shatter apart. The air seemed warmer than usual, and my sweaty skin began to stick to my tunic. Sergius paced back and forth across the chamber, shooting me anxious glances. But it wasn't long before there came a knock at the door, and Gallia and Verrius rushed inside. Gallia's face was wrenched with anguish, her blue eyes wide and her blonde hair scattering wildly into her face. Verrius appeared more calm, and I noticed he had a bottle of vinegar and a small stitching kit in his hands.

"Well done," he remarked to me, and we grinned at each other. "I'm gone for less than an hour, and yet you still manage to get yourself hurt. Aren't you supposed to be the _elusive_ Red Eagle?"

"It seems my expert dodging skills have grown rather lax," I said. "But no matter, you're simply jealous that _I'll_ have a battle scar and you won't…"

"Now is not the time for jokes!" Gallia snapped at me, while Sergius nodded fervently. She rounded on Verrius, the vivid gold of her blonde hair swinging behind her. "Stitch his arm now so he won't bleed to death, why don't you? Or are you just going to stand around and have a laugh all day?"

I gave a low whistle while Verrius rested a placating hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Gallia. We're only having a bit of fun. The bandage is stemming the flow —"

"Just do it!" she snarled, and even I raised my eyebrows, stunned by her fierceness. She sprang to my side and hovered over me like a mother cheetah guarding her cub, and when she brought her hand to my forehead, she cried, "He's warm! He has a fever. Sergius, do you have any juice? Fresh fruit?"

Sergius nodded and left for the kitchen at once, while Verrius methodically began to lay out his supplies. My eyes narrowed when I saw the glint of a needle. "It has to be done, my friend," Verrius murmured sympathetically. He was right, of course, although I was dreading the sutures. My thoughts drifted to Selene as he removed my linen bandage, but I had barely envisioned her in my mind's eye before Verrius applied vinegar to my wound. My composure vanished beneath a vicious shock of pain then — a pain that was infinitely worse than digging the arrowhead from my arm. I winced, battling my agony and gripping at the couch with white knuckles. Verrius looked genuinely apologetic as he continued to disinfect the gash. And when the needle first punctured my skin, dipping in and out of my flesh to thread it shut, Gallia made sure to hold my hand. She was worried for me, and I knew she had questions about Selene. But she was patient, determined to wait until this entire ordeal was finished.

An hour passed before my arm was properly stitched and cleaned, and I was finally able to rest in the open airiness of the courtyard. Gallia and Verrius sat with me, eager to know what had happened after the liberation. When I told them how Selene had helped me escape, Gallia gasped and Verrius shook his head with wonder.

"I'd told her to come back when she ran after you," Gallia said warmly. "And now look. The girl who you thought felt nothing but hatred for you has come to save your life."

"The Red Eagle's life," I clarified.

"There is no difference."

"There certainly is," I said firmly, studying the fading light along the horizon."I highly doubt she would have run after the Red Eagle if she'd known it was me."

There was a long pause, and then Gallia murmured, "Juba, she was _scared._ When she told me what happened in the Forum, and how you'd been wounded…I'd never seen her so afraid. She almost ran after me when I went to find Verrius, even in front of Augustus himself." Her hand slid over mine, a simple yet powerfully reassuring gesture. "Don't you dare try and convince yourself that she's come to care for the Red Eagle, and not you. Because we both know that simply isn't the case."

I fell silent then, feeling flushed not only from the realization that Selene might care for me in return, but from the heavy fever now gripping my body. Gallia fretted over me, and together she and Verrius helped guide me to my chamber. I was given a pitcher of willow water while they stood over my couch, debating what to do next. I must have looked a terrible mess, my skin glazed with a shimmer of sweat, my dark hair messy and plastered to my face. The air felt too hot around me, and although the pain seemed to have lessened from my arm, it appeared to have relocated to my skull instead, throbbing and threatening to splinter it apart. Thoughts of Selene flickered through my mind, almost frightening in their complexity — and suddenly she was all I could see.

"We'll have to tell everyone he's ill," Gallia whispered.

Verrius nodded. "Augustus was suffering from fever when he returned from Iberia," he said thoughtfully. "We shall inform Octavia that Juba has caught the same sickness as well."

"Yes. Let's hope it'll be enough to convince them."

They left then, and my eyes began to close until the torchlight above me grew blurred and distant, as if shining through deep water. Gradually the soft noises drifting through the open window grew fainter and fainter, withering away into nothing, and I managed one last sigh as my pain melted away beneath the comfort of sleep.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, I found myself lying very still in a pool of my own sweat, the blankets soaked beneath me. My fever had gone, but I still felt unbearably weak, limbs heavy as if laden with stone. Light swept through the high windows and flooded the room with silvery gold. I looked around for a moment, drowsiness still clinging to my eyelids, and eventually I was able to discern Sergius standing over my couch. He pushed a cup of cold pomegranate juice towards me and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I admitted, running a hand through my long hair. "I can safely say that my head no longer feels like it's about to crack in two."

"Good. Now drink. We must get you properly hydrated, and then you must bathe and prepare yourself." When I stared at him in confusion, he explained, "There is a rumor that Augustus is coming to speak with you."

Sleep had made me bewildered, filtering lucidity through my senses like running water, and I found myself gasping, "With who? Me?"

He snorted. "Who else do you think?"

"And he is coming _here?"_

"It certainly looks that way."

I considered this, then frowned. "Wait. I thought he was ill?"

"Augustus is weak, but like yourself, he is recovering." Sergius inclined his head. His face was calm, but the quivering glint in his eyes betrayed his apprehension. "Octavia says he has something important to tell you."

"Oh…brilliant." My words were sarcastic, but at once I could feel the nervous hammer of my heart, quick and raw as it trembled within my chest. It was only natural that Augustus should want to check on the health of his loyal cohort, but what did he possibly want to discuss with me? My recovery from fever was making me delirious, and I pressed my fingertips to my temple, thinking. I doubted he had any suspicions about me being the Red Eagle — and if he had, I'd already be in chains, ready to be carted off to the crucifix. No, this was likely something different. Something he'd been meaning to do since he'd first reached the walls of Rome. My fingers found my hair once more, racing through the strands again and again as I realized what this must be about: marriage.

Although Sergius watched my face curiously, he did not pry. He simply urged me to finish my drink before leaving to prepare the bath. I listened to the quiet gush of water drifting from the adjacent room as I sipped the pomegranate juice and considered what I might say to Augustus. My mind was a wirework of concern, my thoughts crisscrossing together as they searched for calmness, for clarity. While it was clear Augustus still intended Selene to marry me, I wasn't ready to come to a decision quite yet. Only days ago I'd sworn to give up on her, to let her go and concern myself with Red Eagle matters instead. The events following Alexander's death had only solidified that. When she'd turned her rage and grief towards me, I'd felt as if I could never be hers — that even if we were forced into marriage, she would never be happy. She'd always see me as a man of coldness and cruelty, a spy abiding Augustus's every request.

But now… _now_ things were very different. Very new and unfamiliar. I thought of the way she'd looked back at me at the Temple of Vestra, before leaving me to wait for her whistle. Our eyes had met, and I could see something in her gaze I'd not seen before…I'd thought it was merely concern, but now, looking back, perhaps it might have been something more than that…

Sergius called then, announcing that the bath was ready, and I walked towards it as if in a daze. I slipped into the warm, soapy water until it closed over my head, enveloping me in bubbling quiet. I wanted to remain submerged for as long as possible, to collect my thoughts and finally stop avoiding the truth: that I would gladly give up my place as the Red Eagle to have Selene as my queen instead. These two pieces of my life were incompatible; neither could exist alongside the other. Continuing to fight for Rome as the Red Eagle would only put Selene in greater danger, and naturally, reigning as king in Mauretania would leave little time for vigilante crusades. I had to make a choice, I realized, as I spluttered to the surface of the bathwater, wiping my soaked hair from my eyes. Especially now that Augustus was preparing to finalize the marriage. My men would be disappointed, Verrius especially — but Selene was absolutely worth it all. I'd risked my life for her, and she'd risked hers for mine. Any ill-will she'd harbored before seemed to have vanished. Though of course, I had no way of knowing for certain — and no way of talking to her just yet. But I had to trust my instinct.

I bathed slowly, the sweat slipping from my body like oil. And when I was finally clean, I dressed myself in a light tunic, over which I draped a crimson cloak to hide my stitched arm. I still looked extremely pale, my eyes wreathed in shadows, but Sergius assured me I looked far healthier than last night. "No longer a corpse, more like a man," he said under his breath, as he settled me down on the couch and arranged plates of dates, figs, and cheeses for Caesar.

At length there was a knock at the door, and I sat straighter, smoothing my face into an impassive mask. Sergius left the chamber for a moment, then returned with Augustus at his side. I was shocked to see the toll his illness had taken on him; it was as if he had been drained of life, of color, like a stone long worn by sea waves. His skin was almost as pale and icy as his gray eyes, and I thought his movements looked incredibly brittle, as if the smallest footstep or wave of the hand would cause him to break. Regardless, he seated himself across from me and spoke in a very tender voice. "Juba. You had me worried. I return from war only to hear that you've grown terribly ill." He studied me for a moment, then said confidently, "But you're looking well. I am glad to see it."

"Thank you, sir," I said, with a polite dip of my head. "The servants seem to think a fever is spreading across Rome. It is only unfortunate that Caesar has contracted it as well."

"Yes," he said tiredly. "It has made me a little worse for wear, hasn't it? But regardless, the matters of Rome and of my family come first. My health can wait."

"Forgive me, sir, but I must protest. You _need_ your rest —"

But he raised a hand. "There is plenty of time for that. But for now, I must speak with you, Juba, for it concerns you future." I watched as his gray eyes roved over me, swelling with pride. "It goes without saying that you have proven yourself to be a fine young man, and an even more remarkable ally. You have shown me loyalty that rivals only that of Agrippa. Your sharp eye and cunning are absolutely unparalleled, and I am glad to have you at my side for so many years." The softness in his eyes was sincere, I realized, and I could not help but feel a peculiar sort of fondness for the man who had taken me under his wings, who had allowed me to rise within the confines of Rome as my empire disappeared into the dust. "I have no doubt that you will make an outstanding king of Mauretania. But there is another matter that we must discuss, and that is your queen."

My heartbeat quickened then, and I said quietly, "I see."

"I'm sure you've not forgotten the discussion we had in Alexandria?"

"I have not, Caesar."

"Then I should like for you to wed the Princess Selene. She has proven herself to be an accomplished architect, and I am impressed not only with her talent in the arts, but in her persistence for hard work. She has seen a very fine education in Egypt, and I am certain she is capable of rule. If you are willing to accept her, I will provide her with a dowry of five thousand _denarii_."

I blinked at him, and for a moment I could not hide my happiness as I spluttered, "Yes. Yes, sir, I absolutely accept."

Augustus stood then, and I saw him smile as his rested his bony hand on my shoulder. "Very well. I will inform Selene of the news tomorrow morning, and we will prepare a feast in your honor."

He nodded warmly in Sergius's direction before taking his leave. And when the door closed behind him, I sprang from my couch, only dimly aware of my weakened state. Sergius chastised me, warning me to sit down and take it easy, but I didn't care. I gathered him up in my arms and hugged him, spinning him around and around as the joy washed over me. It was official. I was to marry the Princess Selene. How surreal, how remarkable that my fortune had turned so completely. One moment, I'd been a masked crusader slipping through the streets of Rome, and in the next, I was a king, ready to marry the woman I'd always loved and protected and cared for. We could retire to the sun-baked shores of Mauretania, settling in our palace high above the sea. We'd build dazzling monuments and temples that would put even Rome to shame, and perhaps, someday, we could have children…

That evening I summoned Gallia and Verrius to my villa, along with Atellus and Corvus. We sat before the flickering warmth of a brazier, and as the fiery light washed their faces to gold, they listened as I explained what was to come. I could no longer continue my campaign as the Red Eagle. I had a different path now, one that would lead me away to Mauretania. Although Verrius looked deeply regretful, Gallia was beside herself with joy. "Happiness is hard to come by in this life," she said. "But I am so glad that you have finally been able to find it, Juba."

" _If_ she says yes," I reminded her with a wry smile.

"Which she will," Gallia scoffed. "You ought to see her right now, running back and forth between Octavia and Verrius's villa. She's desperate to see you. Stop keeping her waiting, Juba."

"I'll see her tomorrow," I swore, as a tingling spread across my nerves then, like a cold current of water. "Augustus will tell her of the marriage then. But in the meantime…we will need to stage the death of the Red Eagle." Verrius's eyes widened questioningly, and I explained, "It is only to ease suspicions. And when Augustus's hunt for the Red Eagle has died down, and I've left for Mauretania, you will be able to continue with our efforts once more."

"So you're retiring, then?" Verrius asked.

"More or less."

"It won't be the same without you," he admitted. "There is no one quite as crafty as you, Juba."

"Craftiness can only go so far," I said evenly. "Augustus would have discovered it was me, sooner or later."

"True. So how do you suppose we arrange the death?"

I nodded towards Atellus and Corvus. "I was thinking of staging some kind of fight. There'd have to be a great deal of blood, to make people think the Red Eagle was fatally wounded during his escape."

"I could probably come by bull's blood by tonight," Corvus said. "It would only take a quick trip to the Forum Boarium."

"Excellent," I said swiftly, and I could feel the excitement growing within the depths of my chest now that my life as the Red Eagle was coming to a close. "You and Atellus should head to the Temple of Apollo with Verrius later this evening. Spill as much blood as possible. We will say that the Red Eagle attempted to post an _acta_ , but was speared through with a _gladius_ as he fled. Augustus knows the Red Eagle was wounded yesterday, but the amount of blood in the temple will only confirm his death."

They nodded at once, then rose to their feet and left to make preparations. Gallia remained with me for the rest of the evening, checking my forehead for fever and helping Sergius prepare a small dinner. But I could scarcely eat; I was too nervous, my stomach wrenching together as I imagined what tomorrow would bring. And when Gallia finally left the night, I sat on the rim of my window and stared out across the Palatine, towards the villa where Selene slept. The light was still on in her chamber, seeping its glow into the darkness, and I could not help but wonder if I was in her thoughts as much as she was in mine.

* * *

 _Note:_

I ended up writing more than I thought I would! Since I promised only one final chapter, I'm uploading this one and the next one simultaneously. Enjoy! See you on the final chapter, 'Together!' It'll have some intimacy (though not enough for it to be rated M) so just giving a heads up!


	28. Together

**Together**

* * *

Pale, thin strands of watery gray light roused me from sleep the following morning. The air carried a deep chill along with the darkness of dawn, but that chill was quickly swept away when I realized what the day might bring. I could feel my heart pounding as I dressed myself in a thin tunic and draped my favorite scarlet cloak over my shoulders. Sergius did not need to remind me to eat this time; I was absolutely ravenous, devouring every plate he placed before me. Bread, olives, fresh grapes — anything I could get my hands on. It was the nerves, I assume, but at least eating distracted me from the tumult of my thoughts.

When I was finally summoned to Augustus's villa, I felt almost as if I were walking to war. The lawns of the Palatine had become my own battleground, and crossing them was enough to heighten the anxiety in my chest. Even so, I kept my expression as carefully impassive as I could, willing myself to shutter my emotions. The servants showed me into the chamber adjacent to Augustus's office, where I was expected to wait until he had finished speaking with Selene. I was so nervous I ended up pacing back and forth, so quickly I wondered if the polish along the tiles would wear away. It was almost torture, standing around and waiting and wondering. Misgivings tore into me as I roved across the chamber, boots thrumming against marble stone. What if she were to say no to Caesar? What if she did not feel the same?

Then the door was thrown open, and one look at Selene told me otherwise. She was running towards me, her curls flying behind her, her green eyes trapping mine. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding as she ran forward and flung her arms around me. At once I pulled her closer, and she burrowed her face into my chest, her breath sighing through my tunic. Her curls smelled of honey and myrrh, and I closed my eyes, savoring the scent.

When I finally drew back to stare into her eyes, I could see the worry clouding her expression. She looked me up and down, searching for signs of a wound. "I don't understand, I don't —"

Gently, I placed a finger on her lips. "The men at the temple were mine. There was no attack."

"But the mess…" Her voice was a shaky whisper, and it was with a pang of guilt that I realized how terrified she'd been.

"It was bull's blood," I explained. "I think I'm going to survive."

"And your shoulder?"

My hands slid my cloak and tunic away, revealing the stitches binding my swollen flesh together. "I have Magister Verrius's handiwork to thank for that," I said with a grin. Selene stared at me for a long moment, her eyes roving every last corner of my face, as if committing each detail to memory. When her eyes grew wet with tears, my mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I hope you're crying with happiness," I said. "And not with disappointment."

"How could I be disappointed?"

I leaned closer and let my lips brush her ear as I murmured, "Perhaps you wanted someone else."

She lifted her hand, and I could not help but smile as her fingertips rushed through the darkness of my hair, then slid down to trace the contours of my face. Her touch was intoxicating, and I stared into her eyes, wanting more. "No," she said firmly, and the glint in her eyes was unwavering. "I want you."

"Me, or the Red Eagle?"

"Perhaps both," she admitted.

I twined my fingers with hers as I reminded her, "But you know the Red Eagle is gone. I've done what I can in Rome. Someone else must continue the fight."

"Like Gallia?"

I nodded. "And Verrius, and many other good people. But Augustus would have suspected it was me eventually." I hesitated, my eyes searching her face for signs of remorse. "So I'm afraid your Red Eagle is dead."

"Dead?" she said lightly. "Or flown away to Mauretania?" I considered this, but before I could find a proper response, she added slyly, "I suspect it's the latter."

"There will be no more rebellion," I warned her. "No more daring acts of kindness."

"You mean we won't get to run through burning buildings?" Selene demanded, and I almost laughed. But I was so captivated by her that I could only stare wordlessly into her eyes, marveling at my future queen. It was almost hard to believe that the scared little girl from Alexandria had grown into such a remarkable woman. At first, I'd only cared for her out of charity, but my feelings had deepened as the years wore on. Selene had defied the odds, had proven herself time and time again not only in Augustus's eyes, but in mine. She was an image of strength and beauty, with a heart that soared with compassion, and I had never felt so in love. Everything that had happened prior to this moment — the first time I met her, when I'd held a knife to her throat; the harsh comments we had exchanged back and forth; the animosity, the accusations — none of that mattered now. The Red Eagle was behind us, and together we would build our new kingdom.

When I continued to gawk at her, Selene demanded, "What?" Her eyes were wide and green and curious, captivating me in every way. "Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm not staring," I said, as a teasing smile crossed my lips. "I'm _observing."_

She smiled back through her tears. "And what do you observe?"

I pulled back her curls and leaned forward, my lips trailing along her neck until they reached her ear. "A brave young woman who has always fought for what was right, even when it was unpopular," I whispered. "A woman who can't return to the land of her birth, but is welcome to cross the seas and rebuild Alexandria in mine. And a woman who was suffered enough in Rome and deserves happiness for a change." I kissed the top of her forehead, then drew back to look her in the eyes. "Will you come to Mauretania and be my queen?"

She was still clinging to me, drawing me close. "Yes," I could hear her murmur.

"Just yes?"

She nodded once, and then there was a rush of curls as she stood on eagerly tiptoe, closing the distance between our lips. Something gripped me then, an emotion I couldn't quite explain. A mixture of joy and love and exhilaration, perhaps. Yet it was inescapable and it was thrilling, holding me tight as I returned her kiss without hesitation. I slipped one hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer to me. I wanted every bit of her. I wanted her touch, her warmth, her breath. Everything. Her kiss deepened as my hands gently grasped the nape of her neck, then her shoulders, and then finally, slid down to clutch at her waist. I was hungry, urgent — like a man stumbling upon an oasis after staggering his way through the desert heat. When I bundled the fabric of her stola in my grasp, her hands found my hair again, threading their way through the strands. I can honestly say that I'd never known such bliss. All these years I had longed to kiss her, to know the feel of her lips against mine. And now that the moment had finally come, I found myself wishing that it would never end.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before we finally broke apart. The world might have splintered itself apart, for all I cared. Selene was breathless, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. I realized for the first time that she was wearing her necklace. The pearls glimmered at her throat, smooth and pink, beaded around the heavy gold pendant at the center. She followed my gaze and beamed at me. "Thank you," she said. "I thought I'd never see it again."

"I would have never allowed you to part with it," I said firmly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I know what it means to you. I know it's all you have left of Alexandria."

"Juba…" she whispered my name.

We stared at each other for a long moment, before I cupped her chin with one hand and said, "Come for a walk with me?" I nodded towards the quiet, sprawling lawns of the Palatine, for there was much we had to discuss, and together we stepped out into the crisp air. But we had barely left the marble portico before a crowd appeared, swelling and clapping and cheering around us. Octavia, Vitruvius, Marcellus, Julia, Agrippa, Lucius… I could see every familiar face. Gallia's eyes shone proudly at me from the back of the group, where she and Verrius were quietly holding hands.

"Congratulations!" Octavia cried, sweeping Selene into a great hug. There were tears in her eyes, and when she came to me, I thought she might crush me beneath the tightness of her grip. "Oh, Juba! I'm so happy for you, dear! For you both!"

Agrippa and I embraced, and he smiled at me. "She will make a fine queen."

"I don't know, I'm already having my doubts," I teased, and Selene shot me a look.

To my surprise, Tiberius stepped forward and clapped his hand on my back. "Congratulations," he said gruffly, and I raised my eyebrows when I caught a note of envy buried in his tone. "Treat her well. She's a sharp one, that's for sure — unlike all those other fools in the ludus," he added with suggestive nod in Marcellus's direction, and I could not help but laugh aloud.

Julia was gazing at me with a newfound interest, and even Marcellus seemed to regard me in a different light. But I did not linger on them. My attention was focused only on Selene, watching her laugh and smile before her loved ones. Eventually Octavia went to prepare a celebratory feast, and I was glad when everyone trickled away, leaving me alone with my queen. Selene smiled at me, the morning light brushing her curls with silvery gold, and I knew I had never seen a more beautiful woman. I extended my arm to her, once again inviting her to come with me for a walk around the grounds. She took my hand without pause, and together we strolled along the sleek pools and elaborate gardens, simply talking. We were open and honest, sharing everything with each other. I told her of my family, of Numidia, of everything the Red Eagle had accomplished so far. And in return, she told me bits and pieces about Queen Kleopatra, her interest in architecture, and of course, the last happy memories she shared with Alexander.

She seemed to want to know more about Numidia, about my home, and I was very happy to tell her. It had been a while since I'd opened up about my past, but the memories, naturally, came flooding back like the rush of a running brook. I told her everything. The way the palace had commanded a breathtaking view of the silvery-white dunes and turquoise sea. The heat that always seemed to rise in a shimmering, blurred haze from the sand. Scents of sand and cinnamon and spices wafting from the markets. Glittering green lotus pools edged by imported Egyptian papyrus. The rows upon rows of pomegranate and olive trees in my mother's gardens, their branches offering pools of shade. I told her of the many stables my father had owned, with our glossy steeds of Arabian and Andalusian — for the Numidian equestrian skill was the envy of the world. I told her of my older brother, who'd shared my same windblown black hair and dark almond eyes, but not my unnatural height. My father, a fierce warrior with a practiced hand, his jawline always hidden by an unruly beard.

And of course, I mentioned my mother, who'd been all smooth skin and willowiness. Although she was born a Greek, she'd been in every way a Numidian Queen — everything from her sweeping robes of deepest blue to her garnet-studded diadem.

Selene was watching me very intently. "But Augustus killed her?"

I nodded. In an effort to tuck away my pain, I stared at my hands instead, watching as my fingers flexed together. "Yes. She died protecting me and my brother the night my kingdom fell. She was a remarkable archer, Selene. One of the best. She favored a longbow carved from Britannian yew, with arrows dipped in poison. She used it to slaughter the soldiers who had infiltrated the palace, while my brother and I hid beneath our bed."

"She must have been very brave," Selene said quietly, placing her hand over mine.

"She was. I have her to thank for my tenacity. She taught me to never lose sight of myself. I doubt I'd have been able to push on with the Red Eagle had I not had her to guide me in my youth. She gave me my strength. Octavia gave me my kindness, Gallia my cunning. I am forever grateful to all three of them."

"Perhaps someday Augustus will grant us Numidia," Selene said with an encouraging smile. "And we can return to your home."

"That is what I am hoping," I admitted. "Numidia is a close neighbor to Mauretania. They share the same sea, the same sand, the same grain and mineral wealth. I wouldn't mind returning. To see my mother's gardens and her pomegranate groves again would mean the world to me. However…" Selene stole me a curious glance. A smile twitched on the corner of my mouth as I laced my fingers with hers. "That will come in time. My foremost concern is building a new kingdom with you. You'll like Mauretania."

"You think so?" she asked eagerly, clearly intrigued by the prospect of our new home.

"Certainly. I've visited a handful of times to map their river systems. The natives are called Berbers, and they speak almost a hundred different dialects. I'll have to teach you Punic, which is the most widely spoken. But it shouldn't be a problem for a clever linguist such as yourself." I nodded at Selene, who raised her chin with pride. She already knew five languages, and so I was certain the native Mauretanian tongue shouldn't trouble her. While she watched my face with rapt wonder, I continued, "It has fertile soil, with enormous expanses of grain, like wheat and something you might like called couscous. It's cooled by the sea winds, although we must be careful inland. _There_ it's all dunes and desert, and it's perfectly easy to die of heatstroke."

"I'll try to avoid death, then," she said with a smirk. "Though I must ask the same of _you,_ Your Majesty."

I grinned when she nodded at my stitched shoulder. "I've already cheated death once," I laughed, "let us hope I can cheat it again."

Eventually our footsteps brought us to one of the vast swimming pools near the base of the Palatine. It was sunken into a floor of marble, brimming with blue waters as still and luminous as crystal. The shallows were fringed by a long balustrade, and it was here where we sat and continued to talk. It was peaceful, keeping away from the business of the Palatine and sharing our most private moments with each other. For a long moment, the only sound was the bubbling rush of some fountain in the distance. Then Selene skipped a stone across the glassy pool and asked, "I am curious. When did you know?"

"Know what?" I asked distractedly, too busy studying her face.

She grinned a little. "That you were in love with me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who said I'm in love with you?"

She laughed at my taunt. "Juba," she said. "Be honest. I just want to know…perhaps there might have been a few signs I'd missed at the beginning."

"A few?" I snorted. "Don't you mean all of them?"

Where my dry humor had once made her roll her eyes, now it made her chuckle. She snuggled into my arm and toyed with another skipping stone, passing it back and forth between her fingers. "Please?"

"Very well." I thought carefully for a moment, as a rush of memories swept over me. When had I first fallen for Selene? I couldn't quite place my finger on it. So much time had passed that my recollections had grown dark and blurry, as if waterlogged. But then, something clearly came to mind. I thought of the day my men and I had come home from war, and the answer came to my lips at once.

"It was the day I returned from Gaul," I admitted to her, my voice slow and thoughtful. "After almost a year in the cold mountains…a year of killing enemy after enemy, watching them fall dead in the snow…I only wanted to see you. That was what I fought for. That's what kept me going. And when we finally arrived at the Palatine, and I saw you standing there…I suppose…" I shrugged sheepishly. Unable to look her in the eye, I stared deep into the glassy blueness of pool water instead. "I suppose that was when I knew. The only girl I wanted in this life was you, Selene. I waited years, just to be with you."

I didn't bother to mention how horribly my heart had ached with jealousy as I watched her pine after Marcellus day after day. How difficult it was to pretend as if she meant nothing to me but a spoiled, pampered princess. I did not mention the frustrations of lust that often struck me late at night, when I wondered if I ought to forget Selene for a mere moment, and meet some other girl in a one-time tryst. I was only a man, after all. And I was lonely. But I always shut that notion down, thinking only of holding out for her instead. I didn't tell her how often I sulked and how sometimes, I lashed out at her with acerbic remarks in retaliation for the chilly way that she always treated me. But what was the use in bringing any of this up? The past was past, and I was quite content to let my previous woes scatter away like dust on the desert winds.

But Selene wasn't. She was staring very intently at me, her eyes heavy with remorse.

"I am such a fool," she whispered harshly. "That day you came home from Gaul, all I could think about was Marcellus. All those months, not a day went by that I wasn't dreaming of him, hoping he would come home safe. But I was so concerned with him that I didn't once stop and think about you." Her breath was coming up fast, her eyes glossy as the tears threatened to spill over. "You could have died out there, and I never would have cared. You could have been slain at the hands of a Gaulish warrior, but I wouldn't have even mourned! I was so stupid and I…and I _hurt_ you, and…" She was sobbing now, hunched over with her hands clenched into fists. "I am sorry. I am so sorry, Juba. You don't know how much I regret. And I am honest when I say that you deserve better…You are so remarkably selfless and brave and clever. Something a stupid fool like me could never stop and see."

I tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at me as I said, "First of all, I won't disagree that you were being stupid. But we all have our flaws, and that is why I love you." I gave a playful smirk and she managed a small laugh, wiping the glitter of tears from her eyes. But my voice grew more serious as I continued, "Secondly, the only person I deserve is you. I don't blame you for what happened between us. I was forced to treat you poorly to keep away Augustus's suspicions, since he assumed the Red Eagle would most likely show compassion for a fallen Egyptian princess. I could not have filtered gold into your bank without him questioning my motives. And so while I was outwardly cruel to you, you were simply reacting to my mistreatment. Like something of a defense mechanism, I suppose. Don't let yourself think you shoulder most of the blame, Selene. Because I was at fault, too, for never telling you the truth."

"But that was only because you were trying to keep me safe!" she protested. "And even when you tried to be kinder to me…I wouldn't allow it. I never even gave you the chance. All those hurtful things I said to you after Alexander —"

"Do not think on it," I said gently. "What's done is done. All I care about now is creating a new life with you."

Her fingers found my face, sweeping from my temple to the ridge of my jaw, and we stayed together until the soft blue evening settled around us.

* * *

When we finally walked to Octavia's villa for the feast, we were greeted with a polished triclinium that seemed to glimmer before our eyes. Clearly, Octavia had spared no expense in preparing tonight's celebration. Swaths of deep blue silk hung from the windows, shielding the glare of the setting sun. The tables had been set with crystal goblets and silver platters, a number of them already brimming with a _gustaio_ of steamed clams and roasted asparagus. There were plates of grilled fish and roasted lamb swimming in pomegranate sauce, bowls of honeycomb and fattened fowl, mixed greens tossed with toasted pine nuts and olive oil. Wine was in abundance, many of the glasses chilled with fresh snow. Octavia's face was shining when she saw us approach. She'd dressed in an elegant violet _stola_ that swept around her frame, and a necklace of sapphires glinted at her neck.

"Come in, come in!" she cried. "Take your couches!"

We settled around the tables, and conversation filled the chamber in a rumbling echo, mingling with the trickle of fountain water, the clinking of silverware. The food was absolutely delicious, but honestly, I spent more of time staring at Selene than eating. She was fascinating, and I watched with interest as her little mannerisms unfolded before me: she liked to scowl when she was confused or dubious, wrinkling her tiny nose up tight. Sometimes, her fingers twisted around her curls when she was pondering a question. Her laughter was rare, yet powerful when someone managed to draw it out with some joke or another. She didn't seem to care for oysters, ignoring them completely and opting for fresh clams instead. I was studying her like a scholar would study his book, examining all of the habits and idiosyncrasies of the beautiful woman I would spend the rest of my life with. And as the dinner stretched well into the night, with many of the guests continuing to laugh over their wine, she locked her eyes on mine and gave me a sly smile.

"Still observing, I see," she said, quiet enough so that only I could hear.

I leaned into her, enjoying the way she shivered when my lips found her ear. "You'll get used to it," I murmured. Even in the midst of our guests, I couldn't help myself. My eyes flickered to her stola, and I'm almost certain my face flushed crimson as I imagined how lovely she'd look without it.

"Juba, are you unwell?" Octavia asked, and everyone around the table turned to me. "Your face is rather red, my dear."

I quickly lowered my glass, embarrassed. "Too much wine, I think…" I said, and Tiberius snickered.

"Shall I escort you to the portico for some fresh air?" Gallia asked swiftly, and I knew at once that she wanted to speak with me.

"Yes, Gallia, thank you." I rose to my feet, and she followed me out into the coolness of the night. A curtain of fog rolled across the Palatine, and we studied its advance for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet. Then I gasped with surprise when she swept me up in an enormous hug. Gallia rarely cried, but now I could see the tears pooling beneath her long eyelashes as she looked at me.

"I am so proud of you, Juba," she whispered. "You've done the right thing. The Red Eagle will remain here in Rome, but now you're free to move on with your life. To love and be happy and start a family of your own." She bowed her head, and her voice was small and fragile as she said, "I will miss you."

My heart sank at her words. "I wish you and Verrius could come with us," I murmured, unable to keep the wistfulness from my voice.

"We will visit often," she swore. "But in the meantime, our place is in Rome. We promise to finish what you have started, Juba. We will make sure the Red Eagle remains volant, a symbol of hope for the people." Her eyes traveled towards the triclinium, where we could see Marcellus telling Selene and Lucius some kind of story, his hands waving animatedly through the air. "When will you begin preparations for the wedding?" she asked curiously.

"Tomorrow," I said at once, and then I added, "Actually, I was wondering if you could help me. I need to find a ring as quickly as possible, and —"

"And you don't know the first thing about shopping for women," Gallia put in loftily, and I gave her a wry smile. "Don't worry, I'll come along with you."

"You have my thanks," I said cheerfully, and the two of us returned to the triclinium to take our seats. The feast continued for hours, and the cooling chamber was dipped into warmth as servants lit the charcoal braziers. Eventually, exhaustion and the heaviness of a wine-drunk stupor began to claim the patrons. Agrippa was the first to depart, wishing me well before he and Claudia returned to their villa. Tiberius and his brother Drusus left for Augustus's home, and then slowly, everyone else began to take their leave. As we stood in the atrium, murmuring our goodbyes, I noticed Selene whispering urgently to Julia. They seemed to be discussing something important, and I tilted my head to one side, wondering why their conversation was so quick and secretive. But when Selene walked towards me, her willowy frame moving lithely beneath her stola, my curiosity vanished, and I was heedless of everything but her.

The atrium began to empty around us, and I drew my hand along her cheek. "It's been quite a long day," I said. "We should probably get some sleep."

"Yes, all this endless drinking and dining is _exhausting_ _,_ " she joked with a laugh, although it did not meet her apprehensive eyes. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Juba."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss me, and I watched with amusement as she started for her own chamber. We could hardly sleep together under Octavia's roof, so I didn't really understand where she was going when the quiet seclusion of my villa was right down the hill. Didn't she want me to take her to bed tonight?

I caught her hand lightly, pulling her back to me. By the gods, how I wanted to rip her clothes off. "Don't tell me you've had enough of me already," I laughed. "I'm not _that_ unbearable, am I?" She said nothing, only offering me a shy smile, and I raised my eyebrows in bewilderment. Selene was never shy. Quiet and speculative, at times, certainly. Opinionated? Of course. Stubborn? Naturally. But never shy. I racked my brains for a moment, wondering why she was studying her sandals, rather than looking at me. And then it dawned on me, why she had been whispering with Julia in the atrium. Augustus's daughter had experience with with pleasing a man, what with her marrying Marcellus and all, but Selene…

"What?" I teased, moving closer to her. "I don't make you _nervous_ , do I, Selene?"

"Absolutely not," she said, tilting her chin up to fix me with a defiant stare.

I smirked playfully, tracing my finger down her collarbone. "No?"

"No! It's not _you_ that makes me nervous, it's —" She broke off abruptly, glowering into the distance. I must have struck a nerve, but even so, she cleared her throat purposefully and looked up at me with a curiously measured expression. "Juba…have you ever…I mean, have you been with…" Her voice trailed away, and I raised my eyebrows. "What I mean to say is, well…you're twenty-two. You've likely seen your fair share of women over the years…"

I snorted. "If by 'fair share' you mean 'a couple,' then yes."

Her eyes widened a little. "So you're not a virgin?"

I think she must have been hurt, but I kept my voice gentle when I said, "No, Selene." And when she was silent, I arched one eyebrow. "Does this displease you?"

"Not at all," she said swiftly, although I could tell by her stiff tone that she was lying. "You're quite handsome. It'd be silly of me to assume you've never taken a woman to bed."

"Well, you should know that nothing came of these women. Just brief love affairs and nothing more." When she folded her arms across her chest and tapped one foot on the marble floor, I could not help but laugh. I playfully twirled her curls with one long finger as I teased, "Oh, Selene. You're quite attractive when you're vexed."

"I'm not vexed by anything," she said stubbornly.

I smirked. "Perhaps not. But _perhaps_ you shouldn't let jealousy get the better of you, my lady. And I'm speaking from experience here," I added. "Remember that _little_ infatuation of yours with Marcellus?" When she bit her lip, I continued, "If anyone knows a thing or two about jealousy, it's me. And it is not something you should trouble yourself with, Selene. Trust me."

She hung her head, her cheeks burning with shame. "I am sorry. I have no right to be jealous. I'm just nervous about what to do. I've never…" Her voice trailed away, confirming what I'd thought all along. She was still a virgin. Even though she'd flirted with Marcellus, and caught the eye of many young and old men on the Palatine, she had never been with a man before. And so she'd whispered to Julia for advice. But she needn't have worried. Although we were to marry, and she was to become my queen, I did not expect anything from her tonight. Just having her in my life after so many years of waiting was satisfying enough.

I smiled as I took her hand. "You're more than welcome to join me in my villa," I said gently. "And please keep in mind that I don't expect you stay the night, Selene. Not if you don't want to."

"I'd like to go with you," she said at once, and I studied her for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. "Today," she added dryly, when I did not move, and I chuckled. We set off into the darkness then, our cloaks whispering along the grass behind us. When we reached the door, I turned to her. "I'd like to show you something," I said, and she smiled as I led her inside. My villa was quiet, the walls bathed in candlelight. Sergius was nowhere in sight, and I silently thanked him for the privacy. As we crossed through the atrium, I smirked at her and said, "Look familiar?"

She blushed. "Yes, it does."

"Hard to believe you once stormed in here, accusing me of keeping _secrets_." I could recall that night perfectly, clear as glass. Selene had come to my door with the marble bust of Juba I, a gift from Octavia for saving Augustus's life. But when she'd glimpsed a sprawl of maps tucked away in my office, she claimed that I had something to hide. "I suppose you were right, though," I added with a laugh. "Too stubborn and too clever for your own good."

Selene looked deeply embarrassed, and I laughed even harder when she changed the subject. "Where did you end up putting the marble bust of your father?"

"You'll see," I said, and I took her hand, leading her gently into the chamber where I kept my statues.

Her gasp echoed across the vaulted ceilings as we stepped inside, and I watched her gaze with rapt wonder from one polished sculpture to the next. She'd been here before, with Augustus and his family — but that had been many years ago, and my collection had grown considerably since then. She nodded appreciatively at the marble bust of my father, then smiled when she saw several Egyptian works: the statue of the goddess Sekhmet, entombed in solid granite; the gleaming bronze bust of of Dionysus; the smooth, stone contours of Tuthmosis I. But it wasn't until we reached the far corner of the room that she came to a halt, her limbs frozen, her eyes wide in shock. It was a black basalt statue of her mother, purchased years ago on the shores of Naples from Alexandrian traders. Unlike Roman statues, which depicted Queen Kleopatra with a sharp profile and an aquiline nose, this statue was done in the Egyptian style, accentuating her curves and tripartite wig.

"We'll bring them with us, of course," I said quietly, as she continued to stare into her mother's dark eyes of stone. "Every statue. And we'll commission hundreds more. I'll build you a library as well — just like the one you grew up with in Alexandria."

She moved towards me and dropped her forehead heavily onto my chest. "Juba," she mumbled my name into the fabric of my tunic, and I wrapped my arms around her. "I…I don't know what to say…"

"You were never good with words," I taunted, and when she pulled back to scowl at me, I grinned. "Come on, let's get you back to Octavia's. I just wanted to show you the statues, but we'll talk more in the morning."

I started for the doorway, then stopped when I realized only one pair of footsteps echoed across the marble. Selene hadn't moved. She stood very still, candlelight sliding along the sheen of her curls. "I'd rather stay," she said softly, and I felt my heartbeat quicken when I realized what she meant.

"You are certain?" I said, and this time, I was the one feeling nervous.

"Yes," she said firmly, and she snatched a handful of my tunic, pulling me towards her.

She kissed me then, and this was quite unlike the kiss we had shared earlier. It was rough and raw and demanding, and I responded earnestly, grasping her by the shoulders and pressing her back into the marble wall behind us. My hands traced her body, sliding along the silken warmth of her skin, and I found that I could not stop touching her. I _never_ wanted to stop touching her. I was like a moth to flame; I simply could not draw away from the enticing heat of her body, and likewise, she could not break away from me. A thirst for her seemed to burn and billow at the back of my throat, shredding my self-control to pieces. I was rough with her, but she was rough right back. I could feel her pull at my hair and bite at my lips, and once or twice she'd break away to draw a slow kiss along my neck. Her lips were soft when they met my skin, her breath sweet as honey. And when I finally slid my hands up her legs and reached beneath her stola, she spoke my name softly. "Juba." I'd never heard her use that tone before. It was so full of longing, almost like a plea, and it sent threads of fire crackling through my veins. I could not wait any longer. I simply couldn't. I swept her off at feet at once, and her laughter warmed me as I carted her away to my chamber.

My couch was neatly made, the smoothed blankets waiting for us to tangle them. I dropped her into the pillows, not bothering to be gentle. Her eyes burned into mine as I ripped off her stola and straddled her, my fingers once again exploring her skin. I was meticulous, mapping every curve and contour of her body, my hands charting their course along the supple planes of her arms, her thighs, her breasts. At first, I merely explored with my hands, but then I opted for my tongue, letting it glide over places that made her whimper. I started from her nipples, working my way all the way down to the smoothness of her inner thighs. I loved the way she writhed beneath me. The way her hands tangled in my hair. The look in her eyes whenever my lips found some place sensitive. By the gods, she was beautiful and I nearly let out a sigh. The candlelight seemed to glow on her olive skin, and I relished the way her curls splayed across the couch in a dark mass, contrasting with the lightness of her green eyes. I cupped her chin with my hand, one finger caressing the softness of her bottom lip. Then I pinned her wrists to the couch and kissed her, long and hard, and it wasn't until my knee pushed between her legs that we both paused, chests heaving as we fought for breath. Our eyes locked for a long moment, and then I finally broke the silence with a ragged whisper.

"Selene. Are you sure? We can always wait…"

"No," she said firmly. Her gaze was full of certainty, and I closed my eyes when she let her fingers skate across my chest, drifting lower and lower until they tugged at my belt. "I want you."

"Then you are mine," I groaned, my breath hot on her neck, and it wasn't until her hands reached beneath my tunic that I lost composure completely.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, I expected to find Selene still twined around me, her nakedness lost in the swell of blankets. But when I grasped around, my outstretched fingers met nothing but pillows. I sat up at once, my eyes still thick with sleep, blinking at the white morning light. It took me a moment to realize that she was sitting across from me by the window, her chin resting demurely on her palm as she studied me.

"You know, you're a surprisingly heavy sleeper," she laughed. "This might come in handy some day."

"For me," I retorted. "Your snores are loud enough to wake half of Rome. Did you know that?" I adjusted myself on the couch to have a better look at her. She'd borrowed one of my tunics, and I smiled at the way it draped over her small frame, falling nearly to her knees. Her stola was still on the floor, right where I'd left it. She looked so lovely in the pale light, even with her curls messy and wild, and her makeup smeared above her eyes. And as I studied her, I am certain I flushed when I recalled all the manner of things I'd done to her last night. We'd been rough at first, rolling around like animals, but it wasn't until I'd pinned her down and began to thrust inside her that I was afraid I'd hurt her. She'd gasped aloud, and there had been a little blood. But that pain must have turned to pleasure not long after, for she begged me not to stop. And I certainly didn't. Not until the two of us were spent, breathless and drenched in sweat, with the gray light of sunrise seeping into my chamber.

"What are you doing up anyhow?" I asked, when I noticed her gaze drift towards the window, watching as the long, white curtains swirled in the wind.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Sergius brought some bread and fruit earlier. So I've just been sitting here, looking out at your garden." Her voice was cheerful, but it carried an amused note that made me curious. "I wouldn't mind sketching it…actually."

"Really?" I said with interest "I shall see if Sergius can bring some paper and pens and —"

"Well, I _noticed_ a book sitting on the table." She pointed towards the far corner of the chamber. "It's a bit dusty, but I think it should do."

I followed her gaze, and realized with a jolt that the calfskin sketchbook I'd purchased for her in Capri was sitting right where I'd left it. She crossed the room and hugged it to her chest, then curled up alongside me on the couch. "Thank you," she murmured. "I am sorry I did not go with you that day. This sketchbook is so much like my own, and I…I would love to use it. If that's okay?"

"It's yours," I said, smiling, "so long as you promise to show me your sketches. You're not allowed to hide them from me anymore."

"I am sorry I hid them from you at all," she said quietly. "And for many other things…"

I could tell she was upset, and so I propped myself on one elbow and toyed with her curls. "We should bathe," I said softly, "and then I'll join you out in the gardens. When you're finished with the sketch, perhaps we could go to your theater. I hear construction is coming along —" My voice cut off abruptly. The sketchbook toppled to the floor in a heap, and she was suddenly straddling me, her lips grazing mine, her curls swallowing our faces like a cocoon.

"If this is your way of showing gratitude for the book," I said with a grin, my voice gruff as her hand slipped towards my groin, "then I certainly have no objection."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she whispered into my ear. My hands reached eagerly beneath her tunic and found her breasts. I could feel her nails digging into my back, and before I could say another word, her kiss eliminated all thought entirely.

We spent hours having coitus, and it wasn't until the late afternoon that she reluctantly left my villa, visiting her own chamber to dress herself in a fresh stola. When I stepped into Octavia's atrium to wait for her, I did my best to ignore the interested looks tossed in my directi on. Even the slaves were staring, whispering and giggling behind their hands. Tiberius was no better, smirking as he passed me in the hall. But I merely smirked back. There was nothing to be ashamed of. In any case, it was expected for Selene to come to my bed before our formal marriage. She was in every way my wife, and the future of Mauretania. Having coitus so quickly was a way to show that as a king, I was strong and virile — and altogether too eager to make an heir.

Around sunset, I rose to my feet and sucked in a low, deep breath as Selene emerged from her chamber. She looked absolutely stunning in indigo, her curls arranged in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her pearl necklace glittered exquisitely at her throat, and the luminous green of her eyes were thinly lined with kohl. I took her hand, awestruck in the presence of such a lovely lady, and together we walked down the Palatine towards her theater. She was quiet at first, and I knew she was remembering our last encounter here. But gradually, as I began to ask her more and more questions about her project, I managed to coax her out of her shell. And it wasn't long before she was rushing around, excitedly pointing out this and that, tossing out names of materials and minerals I'd never heard before. We settled down at the bottom of the _cavea,_ near the stage where I'd once caught her crying over Marcellus, and she leaned into me, resting her chin on my shoulder. She sighed my name, and I held her tight, wishing we could stay like this for an eternity.

On our way home to the Palatine, Selene asked if we could visit her brother's mausoleum. "Of course," I said, and I led her through the ivy-strewn alleyways, crossing along the bustling streets until we finally reached the domed marble structure. Cold enveloped us as we stepped into the chamber and made our way to Alexander's sarcophagus. I could see Selene shiver, so I removed my cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Torchlight glimmered on her brother's statue, sharpening the contours of his heavy brows and square jawline. He certainly had been beautiful, and I felt my heart grow heavy as I studied all that was left of the Egyptian Prince. Selene walked forward and traced her fingers along the marble skin, her eyes closed. And when she spoke, her voice was strangely tired, as if she had run from a great distance.

"I come here with Lucius sometimes," she said. "Just so we can see his face." She paused for a long moment, and when she spoke again, I could hear the tremble in her voice. "I always thought that if I were to leave Rome, he'd be coming along with me."

I brushed back her curls with one hand. My voice was very quiet as I said, "I'm so sorry, Selene."

"Alexander always looked up to you, Juba. He trusted and admired you in a way that I…I never did. When you were given Mauretania, so close to Numidia, he told me that if it could happen to you, it could happen to us. You gave him a sliver of hope." She drew in a long, deep breath that echoed in the dark stillness of the chamber. "I should have been more like my brother. I should have been more open-minded. More forgiving. Perhaps then I would not have treated you so coldly. Perhaps I would have reminded myself that you also shared in my grief and bitterness, since you too were taken from your kingdom. No one could have understood more than you. Not Julia. And certainly not Marcellus." She stepped closer to me now, and her tantalizing scent of honey and cinnamon seemed to dizzy me. I was pulled into the depths of her green eyes, and I could do nothing but raise her fingers to my lips, kissing each and every one of them.

"I have you to thank for this." Selene nodded at the statue. "For everything." She turned to me then, and my heart skipped a beat when she laced her fingers with mine. "I never thought I'd fall for Augustus's _spy_ ," she said with a smirk.

"And yet, here you are," I chuckled. "Such a lovely fool."

Her eyes gleamed, bright with amusement. "Perhaps I've made a grave mistake."

"Perhaps. Spies aren't known for their… _propriety_. As you very well know."

"And what of kings?"

"Even less so. Hideously immoral creatures." I smirked. "There's still time to run, princess."

"Not a chance," she said, clearly enjoying our flirty banter. "I've grown much too fond of you."

"Oh? It certainly took you long enough."

"I couldn't agree more. But even after all this time, you should know that I am yours, Your Majesty. So please, do with me what you will."

I pondered this. "Is it too much to ask you to spend the night in my chamber again?"

"Not at all." She combed one hand through my hair. "I'd like that _very_ much."

I laughed at this, pulling her closer. "How strange," I teased, "that the same woman who regarded me with so much dislike has now come to enjoy my company."

Selene smiled back. "How very strange indeed." She moved towards me then, so close I thought she might kiss me. But instead she placed her hands on my shoulders and hoisted herself up on tiptoe, so as to almost meet my height. Her curls brushed my chin, and for a moment I wondered if she, too, could hear the frantic pounding of my heart. She must have, for she smiled a little. "Now who's nervous?" she teased, and I could do nothing but stand breathlessly as she pressed her lips against the heat of my neck and whispered the words I once never thought I'd hear.

"I love you."

* * *

We were married in the early summer, when the hills were lush and green, and the sky billowed with the crests of mountainous clouds. Octavia and Gallia had arranged it all, since I was mostly at a loss for what to do. Weddings were foreign to me — even as a guest, I tried to avoid them entirely — and so I allowed them to take the reins. However, I made sure to request an assortment of Egyptian dishes and decorations that might remind Selene of her home. And when I went into the Forum to pick out a ring, I settled for a thin silver band with a pearl at the middle, something to accentuate her mother's necklace.

When the time came for the ceremony, I felt like a man who could not contain his happiness. It swelled within me, strong and immeasurable, like floodwaters breaking free from their confinement. I'd been given a deep blue cloak to wear, along with a circlet of gold on my dark hair. The mark of a king. I was nervous of course, but that didn't stop me from grinning like a fool when I saw Selene in her elegant white tunic, her face shielded by the shimmer of a translucent veil. I almost couldn't believe that this was happening — that the beautiful Ptolemy princess with the startling green eyes was to become my Mauretanian queen. She was stunning, and I noticed most of the men giving her looks, even Marcellus.

Our wedding gifts were extensive and lavish — shimmering silks from the east, ancient maps and scrolls that cost a small fortune, silver braziers and polished cedar chests. Augustus had even given me a hundred Arabian steeds, all with varying coats of roan, chestnut, and bay — and naturally, the equestrian in me swelled with excitement. For a moment, I felt like a child in Numidia again, standing alongside my father as he helped me tame my first horse. Overcome with joy, I brought Selene to one of the white stallions and offered to take her on a ride along the distant dirt trails. She was hesitant at first, scrutinizing the heavy horse with his powerful legs and gleaming snowy coat, as if trying to determine if it would harm her or not.

"It's _just_ a horse," I laughed. "You've faced far worse, trust me."

"What if I fall off?"

I raised my eyebrows. "I can assure you, I'm not going to let that happen. Unless you annoy me," I added with a grin.

"I cannot make any promises." She circled the steed with caution, watching its tail swish, studying the muscles that rippled beneath its pelt. "By the gods, it's _huge._ "

"You are remarkably observant, aren't you?" I said with a smirk. She scowled at me, her nose wrinkling up in a way that told me she was formulating some kind of retort. But when I swiftly mounted the Arabian and offered my hand, curiosity seemed to get the better of her, and she allowed me to take her on a private ride.

"Don't worry," I said, gripping at the reins as she slid her legs over the mount. "I swear by Jupiter's Stone, I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." And when she hugged me from behind, I knew that she believed me.

We sped off into the cool evening, leaving the guests and their revelry behind us. We were breaking the ceremonial customs of Roman marriage, but I was beyond caring at this point. Everyone was likely too drunk to notice, anyhow, and was it so wrong to want a private moment with my bride? As we galloped into the distance, with the wind slipping through my dark hair and my fingers tight on the reins, I found that I absolutely loved the feel of her arms wrapped around me. This was her first time on a horse, I assumed, and her little gasps of surprise and joy warmed my heart. Before long we came to a secluded spot — a small, quiet wood far beyond the liveliness of the Palatine. I helped her dismount the horse and led her into the thick pines, which only carried the distant whisper of the Tiber River, the scents of heady earth and cedar resin.

The ground here was made soft by the fallen green leaves, and it was here where I took her, completely unabashed, thinking only of how much I wanted to feel her skin against mine. I stripped her of her stola and drew back her lovely curls to kiss her cheek. She yanked my tunic over my head and then removed my cloak, sweeping it over the carpet of leaves and pine needles like a makeshift sheet. We were fumbling, panting and breathless, our skin carrying the a gleam of sweat. Then suddenly, she shoved me to the ground and was on top of me, and I was but a man made weak from her flesh, from her lips that stung like cold fire.

There was no one to see or hear us, for the woods were too thick and swathed in verdant darkness. And when we'd finished, we dressed and began a hasty return to the Palatine. No one seemed to have noticed our absence, with the exception of Gallia, who smirked, and Octavia, who regarded us with concern.

When asked where we'd gone, I'd chuckled amiably and said with a breezy tone, "These steeds are absolutely _magnificent_. I couldn't very well sit around and not take one for a ride, now, could I?" A vivid blush of pink colored Selene's cheeks, and she was forced to turn away to hide her smile.

We feasted in Octavia's villa well into the night, eating an assortment of Egyptian honeyed cakes and roasted goose dripping in pomegranate paste, until it was time to make the procession to my villa. And when I finally swept Selene up in my arms and carried her over the threshold, I knew this would always be one of the happiest moments of my life. She was my queen. My _wife._ We were married now, and I watched her smile through her tears as she brought her lips to mine.

* * *

A week passed, the days blurring together as I spent most of my time with Selene. Our mornings usually began with a small breakfast and a quiet horse ride into the countryside. For the rest of the day, we'd meet with architects and artisans regarding our plans for Mauretania, for there was much to build, and I was determined to recreate a library similar to the one Selene had known in Egypt. Sometimes, I'd accompany her and Lucius to Alexander's tomb, where we'd lay lotus flowers and burning frankincense before his sarcophagus. I even brought her to meet Silus, for I was eager to have my favorite architect recreate her likeness in marble. Silus had been outwardly standoffish towards her at first, for I'd long since suspected he'd harbored an unspoken attraction for me. But it wasn't until our second visit that he finally warmed up to her, praising her for her rich curls and entrancing eyes. And in the evening, shortly after feasts held in Octavia's triclinium, my wife and I would retire to our villa, and I'd smile over at her as we curled around each other, quietly reading our own books before the lamplight.

One day, I ended up surprising Selene with a cat — a sleek feline with a silvery mottled coat. I'd chosen it because of its eyes, which had reminded me of my wife's startling green stare. Cats were sacred in Egypt, and it pleased me to see her swell with an almost giddy excitement when she first set her eyes on it. She ended up naming the cat Bast, in honor of the old Egyptian goddess of protection, and I smiled when it followed her everywhere, twining its way around her legs. But I wasn't the only one doting gifts, either — days after our marriage, Selene surprised me with a sketch in her new calfskin book. But it wasn't any sketch, it was a portrait of _me._ Naturally, I was stunned by her talent, for she'd effortlessly captured my profile as easily as she captured tall pillars and vaulted buildings. Even so, I couldn't help but taunt her. I teased that she'd gotten my nose all wrong, and we laughed about it well into the night.

But soon, preparations were made to begin our move to Mauretania. Statues were carefully placed in their cushioned boxes, furniture and clothes loaded into carriages, horses made ready for the long journey ahead. The morning of our departure dawned cool and clear, we stood on the lawns of the Palatine to say our goodbyes. Agrippa and I embraced, and he held my arm tight, his eyes shining as he wished me farewell. Octavia's tears spilled over when she scooped me up, and I knew she was overjoyed that I had finally found love at last. When Selene went off to hug Julia and Marcellus, I quietly made my way towards Gallia and Verrius. Gallia's chin was raised, her blue eyes narrowed against the glaring sun, and I knew she was willing herself not to cry.

"Have a safe journey," Verrius murmured to me, his hand on my shoulder.

"We will," I swore, and then I leaned closer to him, speaking quickly under my breath. "And you must promise me you'll be cautious. The life of the Red Eagle is not an easy one."

"I think we can handle it," Gallia laughed, and I smiled at her before sweeping her into my arms.

When the time finally came to leave, I stood alone with Selene on the windswept hills, gazing out across the gleaming sprawl of Rome one last time. The sky was stunningly bright, as deep and blue as could be. I held her from behind, and her curls brushed my tunic as we looked across the horizon, at the city where we had both been brought as prisoners. Although we had been stripped of our kingdoms and thrust into the chaos of Rome, the two of us had risen up from adversity only to find each other. I thought of the young boy I'd once been: scared and lonely, my frightened eyes clouded, swept in a dust that hid any hope for my future. My parents had been killed, my brother slaughtered, and I'd sworn that there was nothing left for me. But now my dusty eyes had begun to clear, and with their clarity I was able to see Selene standing proudly at my side.

She was radiant, and she was mine. As I looked across the jumbled splendor of Rome, I was struck by how far she and I had come: I remembered holding a dagger to her throat when she was merely a child, and hating myself for the way I frightened her. I remembered the first time I spoke to her in Parthian, and how I swore I'd never seen such peculiar green eyes. I remembered the way I convinced her to step away from the railing of her mother's thalamegos following little brother's death, knowing that she, too, longed to embrace the depths of the sea. It was the first time I had saved her life, and although she continued to regard me with mistrust, it was the first time I realized I cared for her.

There were moments when I was at my wit's end: all those times she flirted with Marcellus, and I'd been forced to watch at a distance with jealousy burning in my chest; the night she'd ran away from the Palatine and nearly found herself violated, until I'd been there to knife the man attacking her; the night she'd screamed at me for murdering Alexander, making me feel as worthless as dust scattering about in the wind. And there were times when I regretted my behavior: all the times I snapped at her, or acted more crass than I should have, simply for the sake of keeping up the ruse of Caesar's spy.

But there were moments that made me swell with pride: the way she'd held her chin in defiance at Caesar's Triumph, refusing to cry before the crowds in an effort to keep her grace and dignity intact. The concern she showed not only for the two hundred slaves to be put to death, but for Tullia, and the poor orphans left abandoned at the Columna Lactaria. The sharpness of her tongue, and her refusal to treat slaves as if they were beneath her, already proving herself to be more charitable than half of the nobility of Rome. How she pressed her pearl necklace into my hands without a second thought, begging me to ensure Gallia's freedom. How she ran after the wounded Red Eagle in the streaming crowds, and later, tended to my injuries to keep me from bleeding out. She was quick and clever, beautiful and selfless. And now, she was to be my partner in life, in kingship, and perhaps, one day in death.

I turned to her, marveling at the way her green eyes caught the light.

"Are you ready, my queen?"

My question was met with a smile and a nod. I felt her hand clasp mine, and together we walked beneath the sky, ready to greet the kingdom that awaited us.

* * *

 _Note:_

And that concludes Eyes of Dust! Thank you to everyone for your reviews, favorites, alerts, and even if you're lurking and reading along, thank you! Thanks to Judy Laura L and her sister for keeping with the story for so long too, I truly hope the two of you enjoyed it!

 _Edit July 6:_ I've added a lot more to this chapter, most notably a conversation about Juba's mother and their horse ride.

Also I've just started **Hearts of Sand —** a small prologue of Juba's life in Numidia **—** the death of his parents and his first encounter with Octavian. You can find it on my profile.

 _— whereisnovember_


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